


Accomplished Liar

by Pen99



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hawke at Skyhold, Slow Burn, Tranquil Hawke, Unrequited Love, kind of, tranquility complicates things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pen99/pseuds/Pen99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric debates bringing a tranquil Hawke to Skyhold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      Varric was an accomplished liar.

     He was brought up in Kirkwall. It came with the territory. Varric had pulled cons, some spanning decades, without an ounce of doubt. The Merchant’s Guild could attest to it. Though, on second thought, some of Varric’s crowning achievements were executed away from their gaze. With Hawke, everything was an adventure.

      Years later, when The Seeker bared her teeth, Varric did not falter. It had not been easy to placate Cassandra. Lucky for him, Varric was no stranger to embellishment. No lie was too grand.

     It had been four months.

     Four months with the Inquisition, and Varric could keep his lie no longer. The Inquisitor risked everything at Haven. They lost much. Their fortress. Their men. Their invincibility. Continuing his deceit was in poor taste, even to Varric’s standards.  

     He’d been at Skyhold for less than a day. Shortly after his arrival, Varric was put to work. Before the events at Haven, Curly had an army of mages and Inquisition soldiers under his command. The grunt work fell upon those who had yet to put in their dues. Now, with their dwindled numbers, Varric could hardly justify seniority.

     Blackwall and Varric were charged with clearing the rubble to the right of Skyhold’s main bridge. It was grueling work. Blackwall miscounted for his height on more than one occasion. Lucky for Varric, the apothecary had not yet settled into the castle. It was several minutes before Varric was ready to return to their task.

     Once the last plank of rotted wood was cleared, Curly set them free. Blackwall invited Varric to join him and Sera in a game of cards, but Varric chose to forgo the offer. It served none to wait a moment longer; his confession was long overdue.

     Settling down next to the castle steps, Varric began his note. He scribbled down the first two lines without thought. In the years following Kirkwall’s uprising, these lines had become commonplace. 

_“Junior—Relay the following to Edyiss. If possible, let her know the choice is her own. –V.”_

     Underneath, Varric transformed his angular text into something more fitting of his station as an author. He shifted the page from his right knee to the flat surface of a nearby supply crate.

_“Killer,_

_I’m hurt. If your brother didn’t sit you down (with quill in hand!), would I ever hear from you? I know you are still reading, Junior. That was in no way a compliment._

_~~How are you feeli~~ _ _How am I? I almost got buried under a mountain. So kind of you to ask._

_Overall, things are going to shit. Remember Corypheus? He’s vying for a sequel. If_ _Lavellan hadn’t pulled through, you may have read your last letter. Well, pointedly ignored your last letter. I never know if you actually read these things.”_

     Varric paused to read his words. His eyes caught on the slim black line running through the center of the note. Junior might mind his thoughtlessness, but Hawke would not care. Varric chuckled darkly to himself and picked up his quill.

_“Speaking of Corypheus, there is a favor I have to ask…”_

     Varric finished the letter, and looked around for one of Leliana’s agents. He searched the courtyard for purple robes.

      From a nearby crate, Varric heard a sharp _SWALK_. Upon further inspection, the case housed a dozen of Leliana’s demonic ravens. Varric approached, and the birds clicked their beaks. Like him, they had yet to find their place in the castle.

     The spymaster would not mind if he borrowed a single bird. Would she?

     One raven, with particularly ruffled feathers, took a chunk out of Varric’s index finger. Varric cursed in pain and quickly brought the finger to his lips. At least it matched the cut Varric received earlier when Blackwall “accidently” knocked the back of his axe into Varric’s skull. From there, it took several minutes to get the ravens to agree to his plan.

    Surprisingly, it was the nippy Raven that took his note. As Varric watched the bird fly off into the mountainside, the other Ravens squawked happily.  

     Now, Varric had to wait.

\--

     The response came two days later. It was short and written in Carver Hawke’s crisp hand.

_“She’ll be there.”_

     Hawke was coming to Skyhold, and there was only one thing left for Varric to do. He never had the urge to come clean over a lie before this ordeal. Varric was not looking forward to notifying the Inquisitor. He was rather unsure how to approach her. In the last few days, they had all been adjusting to the change. Varric hoped that his confession did not tip him out of Lavellan’s favor. Perhaps actually seeing Hawke would…smooth things over.    

     Varric set out to find out.

     The Inquisitor was gathered in the main hall with her closest liaisons. Cullen furrowed his eyebrows as Varric interrupted their little gathering. Varric considered his approach. Perhaps it would have been better to approach the Inquisitor without her guard. There was little he could do about it now. Varric continued to saunter forward

     “I know someone who can help with that,” Varric said with a faux smirk. “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory.”

    Varric was nothing if not a performer… **and** a liar. His eyes caught the Inquisitor’s as he mentioned her heroism. This was, of course, entirely her fault. If she had been cowardly, like any normal person, Varric would not be in this predicament. If the Inquisitor was average, Hawke would be safe with her brother. She wouldn’t need to come to Skyhold. She wouldn’t need to see Varric. She wouldn’t be compelled to follow yet another damn request. Another one of _his_ requests.

     But… the Inquisitor was exceptional, and in need of Hawke’s guidance. With a sigh, Varric continued the speech he prepared.   

     The glimmer in Leliana’s eyes as Varric mentioned his “old friend” was enough to give any man pause. Fortunately for him, Varric does not possess the basic survival instincts of most human men. Lavellan’s reception was not gracious.

     “I don’t have time for a meet and greet, Varric!” Lavellan huffed.

     She brought her palms to her temples and began to draw circles.

     “You’ll get a lot out of this. And…It’s probably overdue.” Varric grumbled. 

     The Inquisitor seemed wary of Varric’s request. Hawke was to arrive, regardless. He would not have her come all this way for nothing. Varric threw up his arms in a depleted last attempt.       

     “…trust me. It’s complicated,” Varric hummed.

      That part was certainly true. Hawke was a complicated woman. If Junior was to be believed, she was complicated far before Varric had known her. Back then, she had bark and bite. Kirkwall’s champion had a barbed tongue. Her glare would keep even the lowest of Lowtown from raising their blade. That was then.

     Now, things were different. Now, it was more complicated than any of them could know.

      Lavellan’s face softened at Varric’s tone. She, understandably, had a great amount of responsibility hanging on her shoulders. There was little time for distraction. Even so, it looked as though Varric had accomplished his goal. After his speech was finished, Varric turned his back on the newly appointed Inquisitor.

      “I know one thing.” Leliana whispered as Varric reached the hall doors. “If Varric is bringing who I think he is, Cassandra is going to kill him.”

     At least he’d get to see Hawke first.

\--

     A week passed with no sign of Hawke. Lavellan had taken Solas, Iron Bull, and Cole to the Storm Coast in search of requisitions. Perhaps it would have been easier to employ the Inquisition’s forces, but at least it got the Inquisitor away from the castle. He had been hoping to see Hawke before explaining this mess.

   While en route to take Blackwall up on his offer for a game of cards, Varric caught sight of commotion among the battlements. One of the soldiers was sprinting up the main steps to another recruit on patrol.  

      “It’s her,” the soldier breathlessly gasped. “Like HER, her. Jim didn’t believe so at first. She wasn’t even carrying a staff! But one of the Nightingale’s women vouched for her. Never seen Jim look so terrified before!”

      “Maker!” The other soldier groaned. “If the Commander didn’t have me stationed here…”

     Varric did not stick around to hear the soldier’s chatter. If Varric could read a scene, and he could, she was here. He made his way over to the main gates.  

     From a distance, she looked as she always had. The memory of Hawke, prancing devilishly around Kirkwall, brought a sad smile to Varric’s lips. In her glory days, Hawke’s staff was haphazardly slung across her back. Even in broad daylight. Varric knew well that Hawke was never one to resist pulling in a crowd.

     Now, no one seemed to give Hawke any attention. With the exception of the soldier at the main gate, and the two soldiers from earlier watching from above, no one seemed to care about Skyhold’s newest arrival. For one selfish moment, Varric preferred it that way.

    He regretted it immediately. 

    “Edyiss,” Varric barked, pushing past a bustle of working soldiers.

    By the time they were on equal ground, Varric was out of breath. Hawke stood in front of him, her long limbs dangling awkwardly. Now that he was closer, Varric could see that Hawke’s white hair was tied tight. She had long bangs now, enough to cover the top half of her eyelashes. The soldier had been correct, there was no longer a staff boldly harnessed to her back.

    Even so, this was Hawke. His Hawke.

     “Right.” Hawke stated, nodding slightly. “Where is the Inquisitor? Your letter says that I am here to see her.” 

     And…there goes the moment.

     The two of them stood in silence for a moment. Varric suppressed an annoyed huff.

       “Oh,” Hawke corrected herself. “and I’m happy to see you Varric.”

      A tight pang went off in Varric’s chest. Hawke had said she was _happy_ to see him. How he longed for this to be true. But nothing in Varric’s life was that simple. Always complicated.

      “No, you’re not.” Varric sighed. Hawke’s mouth opened to protest, but Varric kept her from talking. “And that’s okay. Did Carver tell you to say that?”

      “Yes. I am also to say I missed you.” Hawke deadpanned. Her lips pulled up into a heartbreakingly familiar smile. “Fuck you, dwarf.”

     Well, shit.

     “Edyiss, stop. Shit.” Varric whispered. He wrung his hands together. This was wrong. Familiar, but wrong. “Carver thinks it’s better when you do that. It might be, for the Kid. But it isn’t. Not for me.”

     “It’s what we used to do...” Hawke noted.

     Hawke brought her slim fingers and tangled them into her shaggy bangs. She clenched her fist, and tugged her silver hair from her forehead.

     “Before.” Hawke said.

     When they had first met, Varric noticed the pale blue tattoos spiraled across her face. Her dark eyebrows were always furled in disinterest. He noticed her hair, pulled into an un-functional clump between her shoulder blades. Now, when Varric looked upon her face, could see only one thing.  

     Hidden beneath Hawke’s bangs sat her latest tattoo. The little the rays licked away from the center in every direction. Branded across her pale forehead, sat a semblance of the golden sun.

     The brand of the Tranquil.

     Varric felt it then. He’s felt it since Kirkwall, but seeing her now…it came back full force. Tranquil or no, Varric was in love with Hawke. He was in love with a woman who wouldn’t (couldn’t) love him back. She couldn’t ever know. He owed it to her.

     “Before.” Varric agreed.

      Hawke and Varric turned their backs on the main gates.

     Varric was an accomplished liar.

     And this secret, he vowed to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* I'm sorry. 0_0


	2. Chapter 2

     Varric wasn’t hiding.

     Hiding implied he had something to conceal. Varric was prepared to reveal his hand. With Hawke at Skyhold, he had partially done so. Until the inquisitor returned, however, Varric thought it best to keep out of trouble. Out of trouble, and out of Cassandra’s path. Hawke did not object.

     Hawke seldom argued with Varric. These days, she was quite agreeable. It was disconcerting. Before, Varric and Hawke often collided. Toe to toe. Head to… well, waist. She was selfish, haughty, and opinionated. In their joint ventures, Hawke was nearly impossible. Her vision for the expedition. Her vision for the Circle. Her vision for Kirkwall.

    Varric often lay awake, beseeching the maker. Just once, he’d have liked to go unchallenged. To see a vision that was crafted by both parties. Now, it was not difficult to see the irony.  

     The brand had granted Hawke patience. She asked, only once, to see the Inquisitor. Varric explained the situation, and she listened without protest. The inquisitor would return in a weeks’ time. Until then, Hawke was content to wait.

     Varric led Hawke to his personal quarters. There, they spent the remainder of the week. If any of the Inner Circle had noticed his absence, no one voiced their concerns. Lucky for Varric, he received no surprise visitors.

     Varric was stir-crazy. Eight days passed, and the Inquisitor had yet to return.

    Varric was keen on idle banter. He made his living on it. Hawke, however, was not. In Kirkwall, she rebuffed his need for small talk. In Skyhold, she put up with it. Varric invented an elaborate line of questioning. He asked questions, long since unanswered, from old letters. In return, Hawke offered the bare minimum.   

     “How’s Junior?”

     “He’s alive.”

     “And I guess you mean that quite literally?”

     “…”

     “Bet you’re ready to stuff him most days. Or, at least, I’d be ready to stuff him. He still wankerin’ about leaving the Wardens?”

     “No. He doesn’t speak about it.”

    “Is that so? How’s he looking these days, Hawke? Last I saw him, he was sporting a patchy beard. Been a few years, though. Did he fill out?”

     “He has a beard, yes. He has, as you would say ‘always been an ox’. I’m not sure what there is to fill out.”

     “That almost sounded like a joke.”

     “You know it wasn’t.”

     “Yeah, Edyiss. I know.”  

      And so it continued.

     Varric was happy to see Hawke. Shit, he was more than happy. He was beside himself. Even so, the confines of his bedroom dulled the experience. For a writer, Varric craved an excessive amount of excitement. It was what originally drew him to Hawke. She swaggered into his life, both the carrot and the stick.

    Varric wanted to show Hawke the castle. It was all so new, even for him. He was anxious to introduce her to the Inner Circle (a self-righteous seeker, more so than the others). Still, Varric found it preferable to spending another day cooped up.

     Varric wanted to show Hawke his life. He had wanted her to see, to be a part of, it for years. Until now, he was unable to justify her involvement. But now, thanks to Corypheus, Varric had an in.      

     Maker, Varric was a selfish man.       

     At dusk, Varric left Hawke. He was (stealthily?) gathering dinner. He had surveyed the hallway beforehand. No familiar faces. On route to his quarters, Varric was approached by one of Cullen’s men. He paused, setting down the twin ceramic bowls of stew. A bit slopped over the side and onto the wooden table.

    “Sera Tethras.” The man called. “As per your request, I bring news of the Inquisitor. The forward scouts have just arrived. She will arrive by morning light.”

    “My request? Is that so?” Varric asked, puzzled. Varric, although he considered it, had not requested any such action.     

     “Um, Commander Cullen—” He abandoned his sentence, wrapping it up with an uncomfortable smile. “My apologies, Sera. Will that be all?”  

     “Huh.” Varric grinned. “Curly’s behind this? I suppose I should thank him. It’s been a suspiciously quiet week. If you don’t mind, would you consider relaying a message to our Lady Ambassador?” Varric motioned to the stew. “I would, but I’ve got my hands full.”

     “Sera?”

    “If possible, I would like for Lavellan to join me atop the battlements. If she’s not too busy, of course. But shit… if the matter ain’t urgent.” Varric shook his head, and reclaimed his bowls of stew. “Thanks, kid.”   

     The man nodded, and presumably departed for Ruffle’s office. After eight days of waiting (not hiding!), the Inquisitor had returned. With that thought, Varric returned to Hawke.

\--

    “There’s my dwarf!” Inquisitor Lavellan beamed.

    She descended loftily down the battlements. In lieu of a hug, Lavellan grasped Varric’s shoulder. She squeezed lightly. It was not entirely uncharacteristic of her, but it was obvious the Inquisitor was in a good mood.

    “Josephine suggested I would find you up here.” The Inquisitor paused. Her eyes narrowed and flittered around the battlements. “Where’s Hawke?”

     Shit. So much for a good mood. Straight to business, then.  

    “Hawke?” Varric lowered his voice. “I suppose Josephine told you.”

     “Leliana.” She grinned. “But go on.”

     “She’s on her way. But, before you see— meet her.” Varric corrected. “There’s something I neglected to mention. Just, so you know, I didn’t want her here. I wouldn’t have brought her, if I didn’t think she could help. Believe me on that. ”  

    “Varric?” Lavellan asked. “Are we… do you believe she’s in danger? On my honor, not one of us, not even Cassandra, wishes to do her harm.” Her brow furrowed. “That being said, I’m not quite sure what you mean. I don’t appreciate riddles. You know that.”

     “He enjoys them. The riddles.” Hawke called from above. “He doesn’t realize, but half the time, he speaks in them.”     

    Varric watched as Hawke practiced a smile. It was a small twitch of the lips, almost a sneer. The sneer was painstakingly familiar, but with a single deviation. Varric noticed, as he tended to do, that it did not reach her eyes.

    “Inquisitor, meet Edyiss Hawke.” Varric paused. “The Champion of Kirkwall.”

     Lavellan nimbly rotated, eyes resting on Hawke.

     “I don’t use that title. Not anymore.” Hawke corrected.

     Well, again, shit.

     Before Varric could process the (presumably metaphorical) blow to the chest, the Inquisitor began her Inquisit-ing.

     “It’s a pleasure, Hawke.” The Inquisitor grinned and outstretched her left hand. “I’d say ‘I’ve heard so much about you!’ but I think we both know that would be a lie.”

    “I cannot say the same.” Hawke said evenly, blatantly disregarding the Inquisitor’s outreached arm. “I’ve read numerous letters. Varric writes about you often. Carver finds it annoying. He assures me I would be annoyed too.”

    “Um…Carver?” The Inquisitor stumbled. “The same Carver Hawke who perished in the deep roads?”

    “He got better.” Varric said.

     Lavellan squinted at Varric. She had abandoned her attempt at a handshake, and was now leaning against the stone-walled battlements.          

     “I’m assuming, Varric, that there is more than one thing you neglected to mention. If this is going to work, we need transparency.” Inquisitor Lavellan sighed. “First off, why are you here?”

     “Varric asked me to be.” Hawke said.

     “And he asked because?” Lavellan asked.      

     “Because she can help with Corypheus, and the threat that he poses.” Varric interrupted. “Right Hawke?”

     “You’re here to fight?” Lavellan chuckled. “We do have soldiers, Varric. But, I suppose, the Champion could prove useful on the battlefield. If Varric is to be believed, which I’m seriously starting to doubt, you killed the Arishok in single combat? That is quite extraordinary. ”      

    “No. That’s impossible.” Hawke said.

    “Oh.” The Inquisitor said, shuffling her feet dejectedly. “I suppose it was yet another feat of fiction, crafted by Varric. Even so, I doubt your magic will be so insubstantial. I welcome any aid you offer, Hawke.”

    “You are misinformed. Indeed, I bested the Arishok.” Hawke said. “I cannot offer any assistance in battle, however. That would be impossible. As I have said before.”

    “I’m not sure I understand.” The Inquisitor quipped. “You will not offer aid? Varric! What is going on here?”

    Involuntarily, Varric took a step towards Hawke. It was on instinct. He mentally chastised himself. The Inquisitor was a wonderful woman. So exceptional, in fact, that he was compelled to bring Hawke to Skyhold. Lavellan had promised no harm would come to Hawke, and Varric believed her. 

    “Please, Inquisitor.” Varric whispered. “It’s as Hawke said. Hawke can help. But she will not fight. She cannot, in fact, fight.”

  The Inquisitor turned to face Hawke. Lavellan strained her vision, eyes roaming over her unarmored form. Varric assumed Lavellan was looking for physical impairments. Perhaps an injury that she had originally overlooked. Varric knew too well that she would find none. The only proof of Hawke’s impairment was currently hidden behind a curtain of bangs.    

    “Oh.” The Inquisitor mumbled.

     And there it was.

    “Varric. She’s—”

     Lavellan’s gaze drifted to Hawke’s shrouded forehead.

     “Tranquil.” Hawke interrupted. “That is correct.”

     The three of them stood in silence.

     Varric was not quite sure what he was expecting. The tranquil weren’t dangerous. The Inquisitor, quite recently, had employed Helisma. If Skyhold could house a tranquil researcher, an ex-champion should be of no concern. It would, of course, be bad for moral. Hawke was a legend. Even the Inquisitor, apparently, was enchanted with her heroic story.

     Varric had considered this before forcing (and that’s what it certainly felt like) Hawke to come to Skyhold. Even in legends, great men and women like Hawke, come to an end.

     Except, to Varric, Hawke was more than just a story. She was a woman. A woman whom he loved. Hawke could help. And that’s why she was here.        

     It was the Inquisitor who finally spoke.

     “Varric.” Her voice was soft. “Truly, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You never mentioned.” She paused. “Her manner of speech—her posture—I just assumed she was weary to be here. I, Maker, I don’t know what to say. This is… abhorrent.” The Inquisitor paused a second time. “My apologies, Hawke, I meant no disrespect.”

      It spoke highly of the Inquisitor, and her excellent character, that she even addressed Hawke after discovering her condition. In hindsight, that should not have been a surprise.

     “It does not matter.” Hawke responded. “Going forward, do not apologize. I do not become insulted, therefore, I do not grant forgiveness. The practice is wasted labor.”  

     Lavellan, obviously thrown-off by Hawke, met eyes with Varric. Her expression was pained, eyes sympathetic. This was not the first time Varric had experienced this exchange. Following the rite, Carver had received much sympathy. Hawke was not well liked, but she was well known. This was, however, the first time Varric had received this look.

     It was a look of sorrow. Of sympathy. Of helplessness.

     Mostly, it was a look of a lost cause.

     It was too much. Varric tore his gaze away from the Inquisitor. He leaned his elbows against the parapet, his back to both women. Despite his discomfort with the situation, Varric managed to keep the conversation flowing.

     “This view reminds me of your home in Kirkwall, Hawke.” Varric smiled, momentarily washed up in a wave of nostalgia. “That balcony of yours overlooked the whole city. It was extraordinary. But if I remember correctly, you always had the shades drawn.”

     “There were too many people below.” Hawke said. “They all needed my help. I didn’t want to help them. I didn’t want the reminder.”

     The brand had granted Hawke patience, yes. But also honesty. One cannot hide their shame, when there is no shame to hide.

     “That’s why I brought you here to help.” Varric said. “No one is looking up at you, not this time. That’s the Inquisitors job.”

      “No pressure.” Lavellan muttered. “If you recall, Varric, I dislike riddles. What are you trying to say?” 

      “I figured Hawke would have some friendly advice about Corypheus. She and I did fight him, after all.” Varric smiled.

     “What?” Lavellan asked, immediately turning on Hawke. “What do you know?”

\--

     Hawke, in her blunt and direct manner relayed the tale to the Inquisitor. She spoke of Corypheus and his hold over the Grey Wardens. She spoke of the Red lyrium, the same lyrium used by Meredith in Kirkwall. The Inquisitor voiced her concern over the missing Wardens. Finally, they discussed Carver. Mostly, his connection to the Wardens. This, more so than anything, seemed to catch Lavellan’s attention.

     “Your brother is a deserter?” Lavellan asked.

     Hawke and Varric responded simultaneously.

      “No.” Varric said.

     “Yes.” Hawke said.

      “Inquisitor.” Varric muttered. “Carver’s situation is far more complicated. Hell, it may seem that way. Like he deserted his fellow Wardens. But, Maker, you weren’t there.” Varric cleared his throat. A breaking voice would do him no good. “Kirkwall was a disaster. A real shit show. The city was on fire, and I mean that quite literally. The Wardens were not coming to help. Nobody was coming to help. But Carver came.”

     “But he didn’t return to them. After the fight.” Lavellan asked hotly. “No sense of duty, I suppose.”

     “No.” Varric said hotly. “Junior was plenty dutiful. But Hawke took precedence.”    

     “Hawke?” Lavellan asked. “You mean—”

     “I was there in the beginning.” Varric interrupted. “After the rite, we were all there.”

     “That’s Incorrect. Anders was gone.” Hawke interrupted.

     “I can’t speak for Blondie, but I wanted to be there. We wanted to remain by her side.” Varric shot a furtive glance at Hawke. “But, that was impossible. We all had different paths. Different matters requiring our attention. Carver was the only one left. He chose to stay.”

     The Inquisitor drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Her posture was hesitant.           

     “I’m confused. It sounds as if the incident happened before the explosion. Before Meredith planned to call for the annulment of The Circle.” The Inquisitor paused. “Varric. When exactly was Hawke made tranquil?”    

     Somehow, Varric knew the Inquisitor would ask. It was only natural. So much of Hawke’s life was already a story. Hell, it was a story he had told! But this part he had excluded. Varric had excluded it for a reason (well, for multiple reasons). None of which Varric wanted to reflect upon at this moment. He’d have to tell the Inquisitor eventually. But, right now, it wasn’t story time. They had other problems to worry about. There were more pressing problems than the ghosts of his past.

     “Hey, Hawke.” Varric said, changing the subject. “Is Junior still chummy with the Wardens?”

     “I do not know.” Hawke answered. “We do not discuss such matters. If he is still in contact, he hasn’t said.”

     Lavellan side eyed Varric. It was obvious she was aware of his transition. Even so, she let his lack of answer slide. Without doubt, she would bring it up later. Varric was just thankful she did not challenge his diversion.  

     “Interesting idea, Varric.” Lavellan remarked, and turned to Hawke. “Our warden, Blackwall has since fallen out of contact. Carver might be able to provide insight into the situation.”

     “I wouldn’t know.” Hawke responded.

     “Perhaps, it would be best if you sent for him.” The Inquisitor said. “With any luck, he can get us into contact. At the very least, he might know where to look.” The Inquisitor smiled. “Is he far off? How long until Carver can reach Skyhold?”

     “Knowing Junior,” Varric chuckled. “he’s probably already here. I’d send word to the soldiers down by the river. He’s most likely camped alongside them.”

     “I think I would know if he was among my men, Varric.” The Inquisitor scoffed.

     “No.” Hawke deadpanned. “You would not.”

     Varric suppressed a chuckle. He missed this. He had missed Hawke. Having Hawke here at Skyhold was a risk. She, more than anyone he knew, deserved to be as far away from this shit as humanly (or dwarf-ly) possible. But in this moment, atop the battlements, Varric couldn’t help feeling relieved.   

      Hawke was here, by his side, to help the Inquisitor. Soon, Junior would be on his way too. For the first time since the destruction of Haven, Varric felt hopeful.

     The Inquisition was not a lost cause. Not yet.

     Perhaps neither was Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kind of cranked out another chapter for something I thought was going to be a one shot. Oh well!


	3. Chapter 3

     Varric was right. Or, at the very least, he was right about Junior.

     Following Hawke and Lavellan’s “introduction”, the Inquisitor sent word to her advisors. It was official. Varric had no more secrets. Well, no more major secrets.  

     Leliana responded immediately. A man matching Carver Hawke’s description was recently spotted amongst the soldiers. Varric wasn’t fooled. He suspected the Nightingale had known for a while. With each passing day, Fereldens and Orlesians alike flocked to Skyhold in droves. Some sought refuge, while others wished to offer their blade. Despite that, Leliana managed to keep tabs on the new arrivals.

     Honestly, Varric was impressed. Leliana might be scary, but Maker, she was good at her job. Leliana was a much more effective spymaster than Varric had been. Not that he had applied for the position. But still.   

     Junior was last seen running combat drills alongside the South River. Poor sod. Knight-Captain Ryland, Cullen’s second in command, did not go easy on new recruits. Even if those “recruits” were war-tested soldiers. Varric, for his part, was glad he joined the Inquisition before Knight-Captain Ryland. Varric had stamina, yes. But, he also preferred to keep down his lunch.

     Varric, accompanied by Hawke, was patiently awaiting Junior’s arrival. They sat, hip to hip, atop a stone banister. Although Hawke’s feet were firm upon the ground, Varric’s own dangled helplessly. Afternoon sunlight, currently pouring past the main gates, obscured Varric’s vision. It caused him to squint and adjust his gaze.

     The Inquisitor had departed a few minutes prior. She intended to call a meeting at the war table. Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra, the usual, were to be in attendance. Lavellan requested that Varric, upon receiving Junior, bring both Hawke’s to the table. Hopefully, that invitation extended to Varric as well.     

     “Well, Varric.” Carver Hawke shouted. His voice rang playfully across the courtyard. “What’s all this about, then? I was just getting comfortable.”

       Varric’s head jerked upward. At a distance, the glare of the sun distorted the figure up ahead. As Carver approached, Varric was able to assess the younger Hawke.

      “I like the beard. It ages you.” Varric grinned. “I wasn’t sure you’d fill out. Edyiss was no reassurance.”

     Carver, as if on instinct, brought a hand up to his (unquestionably full) beard. He stopped in place, and frowned at Varric. Upon review, Carver Hawke was a solid wall of muscle. He had always been an ox, but now, it suited him. In Kirkwall, Carver was a beefy farm-hand. The man standing in front of Varric looked like a proper soldier. It was a strange sight.

     “Is that so?” Carver grimaced. “I’m certain Edyiss was not the problem. Perhaps, dwarf, you failed to listen. Hmm?”

 

     Carver approached Varric and Hawke. Before sitting beside his sister, Carver pulled at his shirt. It clung to his skin with a layer of sweat. Junior hadn’t stopped sweating. Apparently, Varric had been right about Knight-Captain Ryland. He chuckled to himself. That made him two for two.

     “Haven’t had a run-about like that in ages. My bloody arse is sore.” Carver grinned. “That Inquisitor of yours. She run all her troops raw? It’s fucking excellent, if you ask me. Almost as bad as the Wardens. Way worse than the piss-easy Ferelden army.”

     “You found the Ferelden army quite strenuous.” Hawke said. “It has been over a decade. You are misremembering.”

     “Thank you, sister-mine.” Carver smiled ruefully at Hawke. “Perhaps you are right. Well, I’m here now. A proper castle, no less! I could use a break, camping is torture on the lower back. As I’m sure you know.”           

     “Don’t start relaxing. Not quite yet.” Varric warned. “You’re here for the Inquisitor. She’s looking for info on the Wardens—”

    Carver opened his mouth, but Varric did not allow him to interrupt.

    “—I don’t want to get into it now. The Inquisitor called a meeting. There’ll be plenty o’ time for that later.” Varric paused. “I know you’re not one for polite conversation. But, Junior, it’s in your best interest. Trust me on that.”

     “You are one to talk.” Carver grumbled. “Just ‘cause you make insults all ‘fluffy-like’, don’t make ‘em any better than my own.” Carver sighed. “Alright, then. Let’s see about this meeting.”

     Carver stood up to full height.

     Without a moment’s hesitation, he outstretched an arm to Hawke. It was quick, natural, and entirely surreal. Varric eyed Carver skeptically. What was Junior thinking? Hawke wasn’t a ‘touchy’ person. It was one of the few things about her that the rite hadn’t altered. Hell, she wouldn’t even shake the Inquisitor’s hand. He doubted that Hawke would allow herself to be pulled upright. Especially not by Junior.

     Hawke took it.    

     Well, shit. Look at that.

     “Hold up.” Varric said.

     He drew his attention away from the peculiar display. There was one more thing Varric had on his mind before meeting at the War Table.  

     “There’s another thing, Junior. I can’t have you picking fights. And so, I don’t want you going in blind.” Varric placed a hand on Carver’s wrist. “Knight-Captain Cullen is here.”

     Carver, quite violently, pulled back his wrist.

     Right.

    “What?” Carver screeched. “Maker, Varric! Where is he? What is he doing here?”

     Back in Kirkwall, the Knight-Captain was not amongst Hawke’s allies. He was one of Meredith’s. A business partner, certainly, but not to be trusted. To Junior, he was a miniature Meredith. A threat to his sister, and therefore not to be taken lightly. Despite Junior’s (and quite frankly, Varric’s own) pleading, Hawke seemed to enjoy winding Cullen up. She’d bring her band of apostates, staff equipped to her back, and flaunt around the Gallows courtyard. Unsurprisingly, both Blondie and Daisy got a kick out of their little game. Though, Varric was certain only one of the two really understood the repercussions.

     The Knight-Captain had no choice. He’d look away. The poor man was most certainly in denial. Varric recalled one particular incident. The Knight-Captain (erroneously) compared both Hawke and himself to apostates. Hawke, an apostate herself, could barely keep it together. To this day, Varric maintained that he was able to obtain from snorting. Isabella, however, told a different story.    

     Varric had never really liked the guy. He seemed squirrelly. For a man who spent his days commanding mages, they sure seemed to make him uncomfortable. Next to Meredith, Cullen seemed more like a nervous recruit.

      When Varric arrived at Haven, he had the chance to reevaluate. He was skeptical at first. Seeing Cullen again reopened old wounds. But, ultimately, Varric saw past the Knight-Captain facade. As a Commander, Curly was alright. They were not friends, not by any means, but they could work together. For what it was worth, the Inquisitor trusted him. Ergo, Varric trusted him.       

     “Quiet down.” Varric said. “Don’t cause a scene.”

     “I can’t believe you.” Carver hissed. “Fuck, Varric. She hasn’t—Edyiss hasn’t seen him? Has she? Maker’s breath, when I see that bastard—I’ll—I’ll ring his neck. How could you bring ‘er here?  After what his kind—after all he’s put her through? Put me through? That bastard deserves to burn.”

     “Carver.” Varric said. It was difficult to keep his voice even. “You are starting to sound like Blondie.”

     “Don’t you dare.” Carver warned. “You of all people should understand. I’m not some filthy abomination. I didn’t choose what he chose. I’m not Anders.”

     “And the Knight-Captain isn’t the Knight-Captain. He’s not a Templar. Not anymore.” Varric said. “Cullen left that behind. Now, he’s in command of the Inquisition. Curly’s—”

     “Curly?” Carver interrupted. He sneered at Varric. “He has a nickname, does he? I didn’t know you two were so close.”

     “They are not.” Hawke corrected. “They are acquaintances. At best.”

     “I know it doesn’t mean much, but he’s decent.” Varric pleaded. “He’s not perfect. But, he’s trying. Carver?”

    “Y’know, I would’ve thought it difficult.” Carver whispered. “Seeing him every day. Knowing what he’s done. But it’s nice, y’know. That you can forgive him.” He clenched his jaw. “It was just Edyiss, after all. Just my damned sister.”   

     “It wasn’t his fault.” Varric said.

     “Wasn’t it?” Carver asked.

     “No.” Edyiss said. “It wasn’t. It was mine.”

      Carver tried to speak, but the words failed him. He grasped, lips floundering, to find a response. If the situation weren’t so serious, Varric might have laughed. The stuck-up look plastered across Carver’s face was novel-worthy.      

     “He didn’t stop Meredith.” Carver grunted, finally stumbling across a coherent thought. “Not in time.”

     “No. He didn’t.” Varric agreed. “But neither did we.” Varric paused. “I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m not asking you to like him. I’m asking that you tolerate him. That you can keep civil.”

      Carver exhaled a defeated sigh.     

     “And he’s going to be at this meeting, ya?” Carver asked.

     “Yes.” Hawke supplied, before Varric could answer. “I believe, brother, Varric was letting you vent.”

     “Yeah.” Carver said. “I got that much. Thanks, sis.  Okay, Varric. Let’s get this over with.”

\--

     They weren’t going to make it.

     Once Junior had let off some steam (metaphorically, of course), Varric had insisted Junior and Hawke head straight to the War Room. Currently, they were passing underneath the main stairway. The Hawke siblings were up ahead, Varric lagging behind at their heels. At his current pace, Varric would reach the main staircase first.

     But, unfortunately for Varric, Cassandra was closing in.

     The seeker, red in the face, stormed forward. One of Skyhold’s new arrivals, a dwarf woman Varric did not recognize, squealed as she dove out of Cassandra’s path. Apart from a ‘mad-dash’, Varric could not see another solution. It was a matter of mere seconds. She was about to cut them off entirely. Varric needed a plan. He needed a plan now.

    Shit. Varric was most certainly ass-up. But, he could still save Hawke. This was his battle. If he had his way, Hawke wouldn’t be subjected to this. Not again. It wasn’t her fault that the Seeker was about as compassionate as a blood-hound. The secrets, however, were partially her fault. But Varric, helpless as he was, was willing to take the fall. Anything for Hawke.      

    “I’ve got an appointment in Darktown.” Varric muttered, and stopped on the penultimate step. “Don’t wait up.”

    It was code for business. More specifically, get lost, I’m doing something here.

     “Where are we headed?” Hawke asked, not missing a beat.

     “Ask for Josephine.” Varric responded hastily.

     “But—” Carver stuttered.

     Carver seemed like he wanted to argue. Hawke, ignoring her brother’s hesitation, plunged forward. This, more so than Varric’s encouragement, convinced Junior. His mind made up, Carver hurried after his big sister.

      Cassandra, as Varric had anticipated, drove a wedge between him and the Hawke siblings. Her timing could not have been more precise. The Seeker, still fuming, thrust a gauntleted hand at Varric. She clenched a fist around the scruff of his collar. Flexing her bicep, Cassandra pulled Varric up. He was forced to rest on the tips of his toes. In doing so, she almost hauled him into the air.     

         “Varric.” Cassandra hissed. She said his name with palpable distain. “A moment, if you will?”

         “For you? Certainly.” Varric gasped. He tried to maintain some dignity, despite her grasp. “However, this may not be the most opportune of times. The Inquisitor has called us to the War Table. I’d hate to keep her waiting.”

     “It will only take a moment, I’m sure” Cassandra grunted.

     Varric was an accomplished liar. He could recognize a lie when he saw one. Never the less, Varric was short on options.

     “Lead the way.”

     The Seeker released her grip on Varric’s shirt.  She made a swift turn, and led Varric into the Forge. To Varric’s mounting dismay, the low-lit room was empty. It was eerie. Typically the Forge was occupied by a few of Skyhold’s best. It was unusual to see the building empty so late in the day. Varric wondered (not for the first time) how long Cassandra had been plotting her little ambush.

     “Well, Seeker?” Varric said. “You want to talk about Hawke?”

     “So you admit it?” Cassandra spat. “You knew where Hawke was all along.”

     Varric’s patience was thinning. She was stating a fact. A fact that was glaringly obvious. A fact that was probably being discussed (at this very moment) somewhere up in the castle. Varric had felt faintly guilty about keeping Hawke from the Inquisitor. Cassandra was a completely different story. He didn’t owe the Seeker anything, especially not a personal explanation.  

     “You are unbelievable, Seeker. Truly.” Varric shook his head. “As for Hawke? You are damned right I did.”

     “You conniving little shit.” Cassandra screeched.

    She raised her fist, and swung in Varric’s direction. Varric, anticipating the attack, ducked out of her line of fire. He crossed the room, and nimbly placed himself behind a chair. It wasn’t much for protection, but it would do.

    “You kidnapped me!” Varric shouted indignantly. “You interrogated me! What did you even expect?”

     Cassandra took a step forward, and Varric lunged for the protection of a different chair.

     “I expected you to tell the truth!” Cassandra whined. “I told you what was at stake. This was important. Hawke could have changed everything.”

     Ah.

     So she didn’t know. Just, shit, that was just perfect.

     Varric was annoyed, but immediately reinvigorated. She didn’t know, and Varric wasn’t going to tell her. He didn’t have to. For the first time (in a long time) Varric truly felt like he had the upper hand. Liar or not, he was in the right.

     Varric had restrained himself from fighting with Carver. The kid (or, maybe not so much a kid anymore) was so easy to wind up. Carver, like Hawke, was always eager to be at Varric’s throat. Since their almost-fight earlier, Varric was itching for a shouting match. Cassandra, it seemed, shared this sentiment.

     It was a win win. 

     “So, I just hand her over on your say so?” Varric sneered. He raised his voice in a patronizing manner. “It’s okay, Hawke. This zealot isn’t crazy! I promise.”

     “Urg!” Cassandra grunted.

     She caught up to Varric. This time, Varric was not quick enough. Cassandra pulled back her swing, and briskly connected her gauntlet to Varric’s upper jaw. Maker, it hurt. A flash of white assaulted Varric’s vision, and he was thrown backward.

      “Cassandra? What!?” Inquisitor Lavellan shouted. “That’s enough.”

     Varric got to his feat. Apparently, during Cassandra’s assault on Varric, the Inquisitor had barged into the Forge. The door behind her remained ajar, casting sunlight into the once dim room.  

     “Do you even know? Do you even care what you have cost us?” The Seeker continued, disregarding the Inquisitor’s warning.      

     “I said enough!” The Inquisitor repeated. This time, she put more emphasis behind the words. This, Varric appreciated greatly.

     “We needed someone to lead this Inquisition.” Cassandra whispered. “The Hero of Ferelden? Gone. Hawke? Gone. We thought it all connected, but no. It was just you. You—you kept her from us.”

     “I was protecting my friend.” Varric said.

      “Even after the Conclave, when we needed her, you kept Hawke a secret.”

     “She’s with us now!” Varric argued. “After Haven, when we reached Skyhold, I sent for her. And we already have a leader. Or has that escaped you?”

     Cassandra, seemingly reminded of the Inquisitor’s presence, turned to Lavellan.

     “Varric is a liar, Inquisitor.” Cassandra hissed. “He’s a snake.”

     “I know, Cassandra.” The Inquisitor sighed. “Varric has not been truthful. He and I have discussed it, and will continue to do so. But, I fail to see how it involves you.” The Inquisitors’ eyes flashed with mirth. “You must calm yourself. I do not wish for you to embarrass yourself further. You do not have the entire story. If you would only sit, I’m sure we could resolve this matter. I had hoped to do so up at the castle, but it seems you could not wait.”

     Well, shit. Varric’s chest swelled, it was nice (for once) not to be on the receiving end of a scolding. Truly, the Inquisitor was a multi-talented woman.

     It seemed to be his type.

     The Inquisitor motioned to a nearby chair (and not one that had been overturned in the skirmish). Cassandra, if somewhat reluctantly, took a seat. Varric picked up a nearby chair, and situated himself at the other end of the table. Cassandra seemed to have calmed down, but Varric was not taking any chances.

     “I—Inquisitor.” Cassandra muttered. “I meant no disrespect, my friend. Of course I am grateful for what you have done for me. We all are grateful for what you have done for the Inquisition.” She paused. “But, Hawke would have been at the conclave. If anyone could have saved most holy, it would be her.”

     “Varric is not responsible for what happened at the Conclave.” The Inquisitor scolded. “Not one of us could have predicted what was to come. Attacking Varric now cannot help that. It is done.”

    “Even so.” Cassandra said. “By my estimate, it has been over a year since I first approached him in Kirkwall. He has spent months with the Inquisition, biding his time, but no Hawke.” Cassandra’s voice rose. “Why has he chosen now? He brings her forward. Only when it is too late.”  

     “Cassandra.” Lavellan warned.

    The Inquisitor’s eyes caught on Varric’s. Her look was not quite apologetic, but knowing.

     Varric knew it was coming.

     “Call it what you must, Inquisitor.” Cassandra stood up in her seat. “But I see it for what it is, sabotage. Varric has chosen a side. And it will never be the Inquisition’s. What possible reason could Varric have for keeping her from us?”  

    “Seeker Pentaghast! That is enough. I will not ask again!” The Inquisitor shouted.

     “She’s Tranquil.” Varric said.

     His voice came out as a whisper. The word ‘tranquil’ seemed to reverberate off the walls, a stark contrast to Lavellan’s shouts.

     Cassandra froze.

     “You asked why I waited.” Varric trudged on. “Why I did not bring her to Haven? I needed to be certain. I would only bring her to you—to the Inquisitor if it was safe. You and I both know, Seeker. Haven was not defendable. It was a nightmare waiting to happen."

     Now, it was Lavellan who stiffened. The memory of Haven was recent. Varric knew, only too well, the weight she still carried. People had died. The Inquisitor did all that was possible. Hell, she did the impossible! She fought a God, and even survived an avalanche. But it wasn’t enough. Not for the dead. Not for their families.

     Her mistakes followed her. They manifested as family and friends, mulling about Skyhold. A constant reminder of those she failed to save. That, at least, was something to which Varric could relate.

     “It had to be absolutely necessary. And it wasn’t, not at Haven.” Varric sighed. “But, Corypheus made it pretty clear. The Inquisition needed Hawke.”

     “Kirkwall.” Cassandra hesitated. “I approached you first in Kirkwall. The circles were in chaos. Lives were lost, rebel mages and Templars alike. Did you not deem it necessary then?”

     “I could have told you the truth.” Varric said. “I could have answered your questions. But, you would only ask more. I know your kind, Seeker.”

     The Seeker contemplated this.

     “In that, you are correct.” Cassandra said. “She could have been of use, Varric. The Champion is revered across Thedas. If she rallied for peace, despite what became of her, the rebellion might have followed suit. We might have reached an agreement at the Conclave. We might have—”

      “Hawke isn’t a spectacle.” Varric interrupted. “She isn’t something you can just parade around.”

     In Kirkwall, Hawke was famous. Infamous, even. Some, Junior included, strived to be her. Or, in Varric’s case, at least to be near her. Others (Meredith, Anders, and Patrice), strived to see her dead. But, then again, Hawke often had that effect on people.

     Varric’s book was aptly named: The Tale of the Champion. Hawke was a story. A life, summed up into three measly acts. She was a hero, almost a fiction, read widespread across Thedas. People felt entitled to her. They felt entitled to her story. They felt entitled to her life. 

     But, Hawke wasn’t a martyr. She wasn’t a warning. Or a rallying point. She was Hawke. And she had been through enough.  

     “Of course not.” Cassandra backpedaled. Her lips pursed in frustration. “That is not what I meant. I simply—”

     “You know what I think?” Varric asked. “If Hawke had been at the Temple, she’d be dead too.” He chuckled. “You people. You have done enough to her. You want her life too? As if tranquility wasn’t enough.”

     Cassandra reeled back.

    “I did what was best for her.” Varric spat. “Involving her in all that, putting her into the spotlight, wasn’t it. You can fault me for that. But I stand by my decision.”

     Cassandra lowered her gaze. She did not offer a rebuttal. When the Inquisitor did not weigh in, the room fell into silence. If Varric did not know better (which he didn’t), he’d have guessed the Seeker was ashamed. Huh. There was a first time for everything.

     It remained that way for a couple minutes. Varric took advantage of the lapse in conversation, and got to his feet. Neither the Inquisitor nor Cassandra argued.

     “I think we can call it a day, Varric.” The Inquisitor said, acknowledging Varric’s attempt to leave. “My advisers and I can spare a day. Go collect your Hawkes.” She paused. “Josephine made accommodations for the Hawke siblings. They have each been granted a room. I believe, Hawke has been staying in your quarters?”

     She raised an eyebrow, but made no further comment.

     “If you wish, Inquisitor. I can stay.” Varric offered.

     “Just go, Varric.” Cassandra whispered. “I wish to speak to the Inquisitor”

     Varric hesitated. He was, quite uncharacteristically, unsure what to say. It had been a long afternoon.

     So, without a word, Varric left to find Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *maniacal laugh* enough angst?


	4. Chapter 4

     Varric wasn’t a hero.

     At his best, he was a side-kick. There was no shame in it. It was a simple fact. The sky was blue. A wet Mabari reeked. And Varric was a companion. Varric would make a piss-poor hero, anyhow. He much preferred the sidelines. He was (after all) a rogue, and not some flashy mage. Hawke had that department covered.

     Junior (despite his best efforts) was no different. He had spent a lifetime trying to distinguish himself from Hawke. He tried, not without effort, to be the protagonist of his own story. Even so, he was a side-kick. Just like Varric. And, at the moment, that fact was glaringly obvious.

     The Inquisitor had gathered her advisors in the War Room. Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen stood on the far end of the table. Junior, Hawke, the Inquisitor, and Varric were stationed directly opposite.

     The tension in the room was palpable. Carver was currently undergoing a vigorous round of interrogation. Most, but not all, of it was centered on the Grey Wardens. Leliana was in charge of the inquiries. Cassandra had been eager, but Lavellan refused her request. For that, Varric was thankful. The Inquisitor had not forgiven Varric, but (at the very least) she wasn’t allowing Cassandra to break free of her leash.

     Okay, that was harsh. But, Varric was still nursing his wounds. He wasn’t quick to forget the unsanctioned ambush, nor the prominent bruise on his face. As it turned out, her gauntlets left a hefty mark.  

     Leliana spoke fast. Her tone was even, but restrictive. She asked a volley of questions, but did not grant time for Carver to answer. Junior was becoming increasingly flustered. Several minutes in, and Carver was already sounding like a Ferelden farm boy.

     To his credit, however, Junior did not become aggressive. He seemed to heed Varric’s ‘no fighting’ request. Or, perhaps, heed was not the right word. Tolerate was better. Carver was still Carver, after all. Between questions, he took the opportunity to glare daggers at Cullen. The meeting progressed, and Curly became increasingly quiet. It would’ve been mildly humorous, if not for Cassandra. Her daggers, however, were directed at Varric.   

     “I think, you should answer the question.” Leliana said. “Are you, or are you not, a Grey Warden?”

     “I am.” Carver groaned. “I’ve already said so.”

     Leliana had been fixated on this point. She continued to interrupt him, wearing him down. It was a technique that Varric recognized. That way, when Junior finally had the opportunity to talk, he would do so. Exuberantly, even. Varric would have been impressed (if it wasn’t Junior).

     “But in name only.” Junior paused, setting himself up for an interruption. When none came, he continued. “You can’t leave the Wardens. It’s not possible. Can’t say why— top secret, and all that—but, I’m not with them anymore. I have—” He hesitated. “—other responsibilities.”

     All seven pairs of eyes fell upon Hawke. She wasn’t paying attention, instead opting to explore the little pieces set up around the War Table. She noticed the lapse in conversation, and sought out Varric. She tilted her head. It wasn’t a question, not really. She just wanted an assurance. An assurance that she was not needed. Varric shook his head and smiled. Hawke accepted, and went back to her exploration. The others watched this interaction in silence.

     Carver’s ‘other responsibility’ was not put under scrutiny. Everyone in the War Room was aware of the situation. Thankfully, that had been Lavellan’s job. Varric did not want to drop the “tranquil bomb” a third time.          

     “But you remain in contact?” Leliana asked. “To file reports? To keep them updated?” 

     “No. It isn’t like that.” Junior huffed. “When I left, I left for good. I’m not ‘active’ or anything. I guess I’m a deserter. I don’t know. It’s not like I got a letter of dismissal. No one’s been sent to collect me. I just assumed.”

     “So no contact?” Leliana asked. “Not a single letter?”

     “Well, I didn’t say that.” Carver said. His face was red. “I got a friend in the Wardens. Not really a friend. More like an ex-commanding officer.”

     The corner of Leliana’s lips twitched. Varric knew that reaction. He’d seen it before. She had fallen upon coveted information. Varric rolled his eyes. It was unnecessary. Junior wasn’t some outsider. He was a Hawke, dammit. He could be trusted.

     Leliana began to speak, but the Inquisitor raised her hand.  It was a silent, but effective, interruption. When Lavellan spoke, her tone was not aggressive. Varric hoped this signaled the end of the interrogation. At this point, they owed Junior a conversation.   

     “His name? If you please.” Lavellan requested.   

     “Stroud.” Carver said. “His name’s Stroud. We’ve been writing.” Carver paused. “He’s the one that told me about the Warden’s. It’s been some time. But, in his last letter, Stroud said something about corruption in the ranks.”

     “Well, isn’t that perfect.” Varric said. He laughed, and Carver rolled his eyes. “Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. What do you think, Junior? Did Stroud disappear with them?”

     “No.” Carver answered. “He’s been in hiding. I didn’t, um, want to compromise his position or something.” He added as an afterthought. “He’s a good guy.”

     “Do you know where he is?” Lavellan asked. “It would be quite helpful. I’d like to speak to him.”

     Carver looked nervous. He had only been at Skyhold for a day. Everyone here, with the exception of Cullen, was a stranger to him. If Varric was in his position (like he had been all those months ago), he would have been hesitant as well. Junior was only here for Hawke. And Hawke was only here for Varric. After this, Varric seriously owed Junior. Perhaps, the ‘Tale of The Champion’ deserved a sequel. The ‘Tale of the Younger Hawke’? A side-kick could make a decent story (right?). It would be an original concept, for sure. Oh well, Varric could work on the details later.

     “Please, Junior.” Varric asked. He shared a look with the younger Hawke. “It’s important.”            

     “He’s in an old smuggler’s cave.” Carver said. “It’s just outside of Crestwood. Or, at least, that’s where he was.”

     “Pardon me, Inquisitor.” Leliana said. She turned to face Lavellan. “If I may?”

     The Inquisitor nodded.  Shit. Her words signaled the start of Interrogation: part two.

     “When did you first contact Stroud?” Leliana asked. “Have you and he been in communication since your— erm— departure from the Wardens?”

     “No.” Carver said, annoyed. “Like I said before, I kind of cut ties. I left, and didn’t go back.”

      “And you didn’t know of the Warden’s disappearance?” Leliana continued. “Not until after you contacted Stroud. Is that correct?”

     “Yeah.” Carver said. “I guess.”                                                                                                                    

     “Then, why reach out to Stroud in the first place?” Leliana asked. “If you truly cut ties, you’d have no reason to.”

     It was a decent point. Varric had been wondering himself. He would have asked it differently, however. Less like an accusation.

     “I—” Carver stuttered. He gave Varric a sheepish look.

     In an instant, Junior lost his energy for performance. His voiced dropped, and he turned to Varric. This was personal. Varric braced himself.

     “Varric, there’s something you should know. I wasn’t hiding it, or anything. But, I wasn’t sure. Not at first, anyway. That’s why I needed to write Stroud.”

     “Well, spit it out.” Varric said, nervous as hell. He wasn’t fond of secrets. Especially not secrets kept by family. “Trust me, these people don’t like it when you keep things from them.”

     It was risky, but Varric winked a Cassandra. Perhaps it was payback. Perhaps it was fun. Perhaps it was both. To Varric, it was a chance to lighten the mood. In response, Cassandra growled. She gripped at the table, but ultimately did not fall victim to Varric’s bait. Pity.

     After Varric left the Forge, Cassandra and the Inquisitor must have had a serious chat. Better for Varric, he supposed.   

     “I’m experiencing the Calling.”

     Wait. What?

     Well, shit. There goes the mood.

     Varric turned to face the younger Hawke. He had spent all his waking hours worrying about Edyiss. Varric had not even taken the time to consider Junior’s wellbeing. For a moment, Varric let fear cloud his judgment. Perhaps Junior was not the healthy young man that Varric had greeted yesterday. Had it all been a trick of the light?

     Varric’s eyes fell on Junior, and he released an audible sigh. Junior looked healthy enough. His eyes were not sunken. His flesh was not rotting. Still, the encompassing sense of panic remained in Varric’s gut. How had he not known? Why hadn’t Junior said something sooner?

     “The Calling.” The Inquisitor repeated. She scrunched her lips, as if the words left behind an unpleasant taste. “I’m not really familiar. Is it some sort of Grey Warden ritual?”

     “The calling tells a Warden that the blight will soon claim them.” Leliana supplied. “It starts with dreams. Then come the whisperings. The Warden says their farewells, and goes to the deep roads to meet their death in combat. It is not something they can ignore. Not permanently.” Both women eyed Carver skeptically. “Typically they have months.”   

     Right. Varric had forgotten Leliana’s own history with the Wardens. She had, after all, traveled alongside the Hero of Ferelden, for a time. For a brief moment, Varric recalled Cassandra’s words from the Forge. She and Leliana had been searching for Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden. Huh. Varric wondered if he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.  

     “I panicked at first.” Carver admitted. “It isn’t my time. I haven’t—I’ve only been a Grey Warden for less than a decade. I thought that maybe something was going wrong. So I wrote to him. And I was right. He felt it too. All the Wardens did.”

     Huh. Varric was not expecting that.

     “They all think they are dying. But that would mean—” The Inquisitor said. Her eyebrows shot upwards, and realization dawned in her eyes. “Corypheus isn’t controlling them.” She turned to Cullen. “He’s bluffing them with this calling. And they’re falling for it.”

     “That’s not possible. It can’t be all of them.” Cullen said. It was the first time he had spoken in a long while. “What about Blackwall? He hasn’t reported any of this nonsense.”

     “I’m not a liar.” Carver spat. He crossed his arms. “Remember that, Curly.”

     Cullen stared, mouth open. It was a nickname (and a confident bravado) he wasn’t expecting.

     “I know not.” The Inquisitor said, electing to ignore Cullen and Carver. “If Carver is telling the truth, and this ‘calling’ is affecting all Wardens, then Varric may not be the only one keeping secrets.”

     Varric, Leliana, and Blackwall. That made three of them. Perhaps being an accomplished liar was less of a skill than Varric once thought. And Varric had thought that he was a special snowflake.   

     “One thing is certain.” The Inquisitor continued. “I need to get in contact with Stroud. He could tell us what the Wardens are up to. Varric? Carver? Ready your packs. We leave at first light.”

     “Where to?” Varric asked.

     It was Hawke, not the Inquisitor, who answered.

     “Pay attention, Varric.” Hawke instructed. “You and Carver are headed to Crestwood.”  

\--

    Initially, Junior was hesitant to abandon Hawke. Varric doubted (very much so) that Edyiss and Carver had spent much time apart. Not since Kirkwall, anyhow. In this, Varric shared his reservation. He didn’t like the thought of Hawke (alone) at Skyhold. Not with Cassandra on the loose. She had calmed down since their fight, but Varric suspected that the Seeker was still looking for blood. He hoped, despite himself, that it was only his blood she was after.

     To Varric, one thing was certain. Hawke could not be allowed to come to Crestwood. The Inquisitor was a beacon for trouble. It was too dangerous. Varric, with some assistance from the Inquisitor, persuaded Carver to this fact.

     It didn’t take long for Varric to regret the decision. Or, at least, the decision not to stay behind. Crestwood was a mess, and not in the ‘shithole Kirkwall' kind of way. It was stormy, slippery, and infested with demons. Perfect.

     “Another one for me.” Varric grunted. He re-loaded Bianca, and swiveled. “How many you got Hawke?”

     Shit. Wrong Hawke.

     Varric froze.  It was an honest mistake. Although, it wasn’t one that Varric made often. He hadn’t slipped up in a number of years. Having the Hawke siblings around made it complicated. Oh well, it was an old habit. Old habits (Varric knew from experience) were the hardest to shake.

     Carver stood, back-to-back, with the Inquisitor. Together, they faced half a dozen undead. Varric watched as Junior thrust his blade forward. The hilt met flesh, and the skeleton squealed in agony. Carver, (thankfully) ignored Varric. Or, it was possible, that Junior hadn’t quite heard. The storm overhead muted the battle below.

     In battle, Junior was grounded. He was a marvelous combatant, despite being awkward in every other aspect of life. It seemed, in recent years, Junior had only improved. Varric suppressed a grin. They had not fought side-by-side since Kirkwall. In some ways it was nostalgic.

     Varric let loose a bolt. It whizzed past Carver and the Inquisitor, and caught the undead square in the chest. The skeleton fell to the ground, motionless, before Carver could land the killing blow.

      “Dammit, Varric!” Carver squealed. He cleared his throat, and lowered his voice. “I mean—that kill. It was mine.”  

     “Sorry, Junior.” Varric teased. “You’ll have to be quicker next time.”

     Carver snarled at Varric, but returned his attention to the cohort of undead. After several minutes, a dozen fresh (rotted?) corpses lay in the mud. The Inquisitor, despite Dorian’s protest, began to loot. She dipped her fingers into the congealment of mud and flesh, and pulled out a few of Varric’s bolts. In addition, Lavellan managed to salvage a few gold coins. She tipped a few into Carver’s palm. Junior, trying (and failing) to mask his disgust, mumbled a short ‘Thank you’.    

     The party pushed forward, and the storm became infrequent. By the time they reached the coast, the storm had transformed into a light mist. Dorian removed his outer layer of robe, and wrung it out.

     Carver, without warning, released a jovial snort.

     “And what, pray tell, are you laughing at?” Dorian asked, stopping mid squeeze.

     Dorian looked up, and Varric saw it. The kohl lining of Dorian’s eyes was smeared. It ran down his face in streaks.

    “Not a thing, sera.” Carver snorted. “It wasn’t nuhthin’.”

      Dorian narrowed his eyes, but did not press further. After a quick rest, the Inquisitor, with Dorian at her side, scouted ahead. Varric was content to lag behind. It gave Junior and him the chance to catch up. They hardly got the opportunity back at Skyhold, what with Cassandra and all.   

     “Ferelden?” Varric chuckled. “You’re shitting me, Junior. And all this time, I thought you were in Orlais.”

     “We were, for a while.” Carver grinned.  “Honnleath was only temporary. We were tryin’ to stay far away from Kirkwall. It was Aveline’s idea.” Carver sighed. “Since, you know, we couldn’t go back to Lothering.” He paused. “It wasn’t home, but it kinda was, y’know?”

     “I never got the sense that Hawke cared for Lothering.” Varric admitted. “Though, I’m not sure she liked Kirkwall much better.”

     “I think your right.” Carver whispered. “We had a farm. No crops, or animals, or nothing like that. But, there was a bit of land. Scarred by the blight, see? I don’t think anything would grow. I got it real cheap. Ugly as all shit, but it was peaceful.”

    “I bet you were bored out of your skull.” Varric teased. “No offence, but peaceful really isn’t your style.”  

     “It was secluded.” Carver amended. “There wasn’t much to do. And nobody important came ‘a knocking. Just me, Edyiss, and the Mabari.”

     “Speaking of which.” Varric said. “Where’s the old girl now? I would’ve thought you’d bring her to Skyhold.”

     “Dead.” Carver deadpanned. “She died in Honnleath. We’d barely settled in. I think she knew it, y’know? That she was home, or some shit.”

     Varric slapped Carver’s arm. Damn, that kid was dramatic. Varric wondered if he and Carver would one day be literary rivals. Before that day, Junior would need to brush up on his spelling. Varric had read enough of “Edyiss” (read: Carver’s) letters. No self-respecting editor would agree to work with the younger Hawke.   

     “Maker. That’s depressing.” Varric grumbled. “Lighten up, will you? I have enough on my mind. I didn’t need that sad-ass story.”

      The two walked in silence. It wasn’t long before Carver broke it.   

     “There was this girl.” Carver mumbled. “There, at the farm.”

     This perked Varric’s attention. Carver wasn’t typically a sharer. For that matter, none of the Hawke’s were. Except, maybe Gamlen.

     “Junior, you didn’t.” Varric grinned. “I need details.”

     “She’d stop by occasionally.” Carver blushed. “I’m not sure, but I recognized her. Maybe from Lothering, I don’t know. From somewhere. I don’t think she knew us. Or, at least, she didn’t seem to know me. Saw Edyiss once or twice. But, she never said anything. So, yeah.”

     “And…?” Varric prompted. “Come on kid. I’m going to need more than that. If you want, I can promise it won’t end up in my next serial. And if it does, I’ll make sure my agent gives you a percentage of the royalties.” Varric wiggled his eyebrows.  

     “And nothing.” Carver grumbled. “Forget I said anything. I don’t even know why I brought it up.”

     The two of them fell into a comfortable silence again. Up ahead, the Inquisitor called for another rest. Varric brushed the tips of his fingers across the ground. It was semi-dry, so Varric settled up against a loose chunk of stone. He tugged open his pack, and unrolled a scrap of cloth. The cloth contained a pudgy loaf of bread. He broke it in half, and held out the other half to Carver.  The younger Hawke hesitated, and, after a moment’s deliberation, sunk down to Varric’s height.

    Carver spoke between bites. 

     “It was just—it was nice.” Carver admitted. He spoke in a low voice, as to not be overheard. “It was nice to be normal. To not be a Grey Warden. To not be Carver Hawke.” His voice quavered. “For a moment, it felt like there was a future there. Maybe with her, maybe not, but something that wasn’t this.” He held up his palms and motioned wildly to nothing in particular. “I love Edyiss, and Maker knows, I’m not leaving her side. Not ever.” He sighed. “But it was a nice dream. I don’t know how you do it dwarf.” Carver said.

     “What’s that, Junior?” Varric asked.

     Carver, who was absentmindedly picking the seeds off the top of the loaf, looked up. He shook his head at Varric.

     “She’s not going to get better. What she is today—who she is today.” Carver corrected. “Will be who she is tomorrow. And the next day. And for the rest of her life. She’s never going to be the way she used to be.”

     “I know.” Varric answered.

     “But you still love her.”

      Well, there it was.     

     “I thought you were crazy back then.” Carver said. “She was so awful. And not just to you, but to everyone. It’s the way she is.” He paused. “And then there was Merrill. I don’t know why, but Merrill was different. I didn’t think Edyiss could be decent. I didn’t think she could care. But, there it was.” Carver laughed. “Honestly, Varric? It kind of stung.”

     Varric remembered those days. They felt distant. A fossil of another time. Back then, Hawke and he were hardly business partners (let alone friends). He didn’t have much time for her friendship, anyway. Varric and Bianca had just begun their tryst.

     For a number of years (more than Varric would like to admit), the thought of Bianca brought pain. These days, her memory was only a dull ache. Varric had a theory about it. He reckoned that the heart could only handle a single heartbreak. One at a time, that is. Since the rite, Varric had found a new heartbreak. It took the form of Edyiss Hawke.

    “I wasn’t around much for that.” Varric said. “I was with Bianca then. We—I was making it work.”

     Varric had kept Bianca out of the books. What they had was private. It wasn’t something he wanted all of Thedas to know. Bianca, in the end, didn’t deserve to be exposed. Despite everything that happened, Varric loved her enough to protect her. Varric was not her first choice, no. But for a long time, she was his. That feeling didn’t go away. They were forever connected. He would never risk her happiness. Not for gold. Not for anything. Besides, Hawke was the hero. No one wanted to read about the side-kick’s heartbreak.

     And so, it was Merrill that made it in. Not Bianca.

     “I remember that.” Carver said. “Shit, I wasn’t sure what to think. You were never around. Edyiss didn’t seem to notice much, but I was sure you’d cut us out of the expedition. Or, you’d leave, and Bartrand would.” Carver chuckled. “An’ then you show up one day.”

     That’s when it had fallen apart. He could see it (a decade later) as clear as that first day. Their impromptu wedding, called off for good. By a messy letter, no less. There would be no eloping. No running away together. Varric waited. He stood alone in in that damned alleyway until sunset. Varric needed her to change her mind. It was Bianca. She loved him. She would change her mind.

     Eventually, he gave up.

     From there, he had nowhere else to go. He wandered around Lowtown, and eventually ended up where he needed to be. He landed on Hawke’s doorstep.   

     “And then you started hanging around again. At Gamlen’s hovel, no less. Edyiss couldn’t get rid of you after that. She used to bitch about it. Damn dwarf, always crowding the door mat. But, I don’t think it bothered her nearly as much as she let on.”

     Carver and Varric locked eyes.

     “Did she love you?” Carver asked.

     That was the question wasn’t it? The one that Varric had asked himself over and over again. 

     “I don’t know.” Varric answered.  “We never—it was never like that. There were so many things. Things that went unsaid.” Varric reconsidered. “Maybe? No? It doesn’t matter now.”

    “Does it not?” Carver asked.

     “I…” Varric scoffed. “I don’t know what to say to that.  She doesn’t feel. Not anything. Not at all. It wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t want it to.” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Besides I would never make a choice for her. Not one like this.”

     “I know.” Carver responded. “I had to ask. I needed to be sure. We’ve become close, you and I. Especially since—” He shook his head. “I just want you to know, Edyiss still comes first. Remember that. I am going to protect her. Even if that means protecting her from you.”

     “I know, Junior. But you won’t have to.” Varric said. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have thought about it, though. I was weak. Weaker than I am now, anyway. I wasn’t in a good place.” Varric sighed. “I thought about telling her, right after the rite, but I was afraid. I was afraid that if I told her, she’d—I don’t know—do it for me.”

     “That’s stupid.” Carver said. “Edyiss doesn’t do anything for anyone. Only herself.”

     But, that wasn’t true. Varric recalled a particularly alarming incident. It was still fresh in his mind.

     “You helped her up.”

     “What?” Carver asked.

     “Back in Skyhold. You helped her to her feet.” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Did she do that for herself? Or did she do that for you?”  

    “I hadn’t thought you noticed.”

    “I know, Carver.” Varric admitted. “That she pretends to be normal sometimes. She pretends for you.” Carver opened his mouth in protest, but Varric continued to speak. “That wasn’t meant to be—I don’t know. I wasn’t attacking you, or anything. But, when she smiles and makes snarky comments. Is that for her benefit?”

     “I don’t make her do that.” Carver spat. “She does that on her own.”

     “Don’t be an idiot.” Varric hissed. “She does it because she knows you like it. And that’s my problem. Even if she did want me…before. She doesn’t now. She can’t now. And I don’t want her doing it for me. ”

    “So don’t tell her then!” Carver exclaimed. “Are you capable of that much?”    

     “I can deal with it kid. Maker knows, I’ve done it before.”

     And it was true. He’d done it with Bianca.

      They had both finished their bread. Varric was packing his bag, ready to follow the Inquisitor further along the coast. They had a Warden to meet, after all.           

     “Varric?” Carver asked.

     Varric remained silent.

     “You don’t have to answer, or nothing, but shit.” Carver took a deep breath. “The way things were with Bianca. Were they the same with Hawke?”

     “No.” Varric answered. “Hawke was different. There’s never been anyone like her.”

     Varric might be a liar. But that? That was the honest truth. Even now, after all this time, Hawke was different. Yes, she made things difficult (she always had). But, she also made things better.

      She made Varric want to be better.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A plot (and Carver) heavy chapter. More Hawke to come.


	5. Chapter 5

     Varric was a bullshitter.

     It was both his job, and his favorite hobby. With the Inquisition, Varric was otherwise occupied. It was difficult to bullshit full-time. Especially while fighting an ancient Tevinter god.

     Even so, Varric still managed to incorporate bullshiting into his day-to-day. He knew quality bullshit when he heard it. And what Stroud said about Warden Commander Clarel? That was it.

      Varric knew blood magic. He knew what it could do, and what it couldn’t do. No blood magic ritual (no matter how powerful) could vanquish the blight.       

     Despite everything, Varric didn’t hate blood magic. In Kirkwall, it caused a whole hell of a mess. But, it also got Varric out of a few (otherwise fatal) encounters.

     Merrill, their resident blood mage, knew how to properly wield her craft. Watching Daisy (sweet, unassuming Daisy) split open a vein wasn’t the most settling of experiences. The first time, Varric was especially traumatized. He was so surprised, he almost sent Bianca rolling down Sundermount.  But, over time, Varric came to rely on it. It was good in a pinch. When shit went to… (well) shit, it was Daisy who provided options.

     Hawke, however, was a different story.

     Her specialty was lightning.

     She was a human tempest, volatile and unforgiving. To Hawke, the very air she breathed was a weapon. In battle, it was a terrifying sight. Drawing blood was one thing; Varric had done it his entire life. But lightning? It didn’t draw blood. It devoured flesh. It didn’t leave corpses, but husks in its wake.

     Varric remembered it well. He remembered the buildup of energy, and the way his skin tingled, anticipating the energy’s release. Afterward, when the battle was won, each breath was heavy. The electricity clung to the air. It was like metal on his tongue.    

     The blood magic came later.

     It had started as an accident. And, like most accidents, it began in the Deep Roads. In the “Tale of the Champion”, Varric skimmed over their Deep Roads adventure. It was merely the pathway to Hawke’s fortune, not a major feat in her story. But that was a lie. It wasn’t the biggest lie Varric had ever told, but it was one of the most blatant. 

     The expedition had failed. Bartrand, brother of the year, had abandoned him. There was no way out.   They remained (in the dark) for three months.

     Yeah. It didn’t exactly make for ‘light reading’.

     Then, the darkspawn ambushed. It was a bloody battle. Varric had broken his nose in more than one place. Hawke had sustained a serious blow to the head. A warm, thick trail of blood drained through the part in her hair. She was on her knees, clasping at her head. Anders had been knocked unconscious. Their healer was gone, and three months in, elfroot potions were a luxury they didn’t have. One of them buggers flanked Junior. Varric didn’t have the energy to fight. There was no way around it. He was going to die. They all were.

     Then, Hawke was there. She was on her feet. Varric hadn’t seen her rise.

     Hawke was surrounded by an aura; it was crisp and deep red. She held a newly-conjured orb. It expanded in Hawke’s outstretched arms, and erupted across the cavern. Electricity burned the air, and the remaining darkspawn with it. Varric was close enough to Hawke. He heard the whispers emanating from her. They were promises. Promises not meant for Varric. As the aura receded into her core, the whispers grew faint. Eventually, they were silenced.

     Varric didn’t know it then. But, it was the beginning of the end. In that moment, Hawke sealed her fate. No deal was made, but the stage was set. All the players had arrived.

     In six years time, Hawke would be made Tranquil at the hand of Knight-Commander Meredith. Given the choice between tranquility and death, Varric was glad for tranquility. He wasn’t sure what Hawke would have chosen. As far as he knew, she wasn’t given the choice. 

     But, as Varric said, he hadn’t known. Not in the Deep Roads. Not for six years. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have stopped it. Hawke had saved them. Well, most of them. Carver was dying of the blight. Anders had an idea, but it required Grey Wardens. It was just one more thing (like water, and food, and shelter) that they did not have.

     Hawke didn’t speak for two days. She tended to Carver, but nothing she did could help the youngest Hawke. Varric wanted to ask. He wanted to know about the voices, but his courage was slowly dying along with Carver. It wasn’t the time.  

     By the Will of the Maker, Hawke found another path.  A path that led to the Grey Wardens. A path that let Junior live.

     So, long story short, Varric didn’t hate blood magic. It had the potential to do both good and bad. The real bitch? Most of the time, you couldn’t tell until afterward.

     Boom.

     Varric was jolted to attention.

     A burst of thunder shook the cave, and the walls hummed in a lingering echo. Varric noticed, somewhat dejectedly, that the storm outside had started up again. For once in his life, Varric was glad to be cooped up underground. The smuggler’s cave, despite its draftiness, granted a nice respite from the rain. And for that, Varric was thankful.   

     Nearby, Carver, the Inquisitor, and Stroud exchanged banter. Dorian and Varric were within earshot of the conversation, but neither man (nor dwarf) was inclined to contribute. Stroud, Lavellan, and Carver seemed to be in agreement: at its core, blood magic was evil. Varric (quietly) and Dorian (not so quietly) disagreed.

     For Varric, it was best to stay silent. Recently, he had been the source of conflict. Varric knew how to pick his battles. This was not one he could win. Especially with Junior.

     To Carver Hawke, blood magic was the source of evil. Even Merrill (recipient of his puppy-love), wasn’t to be trusted. Not fully. Junior’s hatred was not without merit. In Kirkwall, Junior had faced his fair share of abominations. When mages (other than Hawke and Merrill) used blood magic, it never seemed to work out well.

     It wasn’t (of course) Junior’s only reason. That much was obvious. To Carver, blood magic was responsible for Hawke. It was the reason she was tranquil. Junior had needed someone to blame. He blamed himself. He blamed Varric. And he blamed blood magic. But, Hawke? She was the one thing that Carver didn’t blame.

     The irony was not lost on Varric.

     An hour passed, but the storm did not let up. The Inquisitor and Stroud had made plans to infiltrate the Grey Wardens. According to Stroud, they were gathering in the Western Approach. Lavellan invited Stroud back to Skyhold, but he refused. Instead, he arranged to meet the Inquisitor at the Approach. Varric was only half paying attention. He’d said something about a Tevinter ritual tower.

     And just like that, they had accomplished their mission.

     The Inquisitor made the executive decision. They would not wait out the rain. There was too much to be done. So, Varric (and the rest of the party, sans Stroud) headed back to the Crestwood outpost. They mounted their horses, and prepared for the steep climb back to Skyhold.

     Varric, for one, longed for a warm bath. He was drenched, and numb to the bone. Perhaps, a bath would be waiting for each of them upon their return. It was a nice, if somewhat impractical, thought. Varric closed his eyes, and imagined the steamy water. He imagined fire, and warmth, and (for a brief moment) the hot burn of electricity. 

\--

      Upon his return (well, after his bath), Varric went looking for Hawke.

     He half expected to find her in his quarters. It was foolish; the Inquisitor had since arranged a room for both Hawke and Junior. Varric sighed; he was starting to miss her. He knew it was stupid. Varric and Hawke had spent years apart. At the moment, there were in the same place. He had seen her just yesterday. Varric’s disappointment was hardly justified. He should be thankful. He hadn’t expected the time they now had together. He hadn’t planned to drag her in. And now, with Corypheus messing about, Varric wasn’t sure how much time they had left.

     He had to make it count.

     Varric knocked on Hawke’s door. But it was Junior, not Hawke, who answered. He was out of his armor, and (like Varric) appeared to have recently bathed.  

     “What’s it you want, Varric?” Carver asked. “I’m ‘bout to take a nap. So unless the matter’s urgent, scram. You can come back in the morning. Yeah?”

     He tried to shut the door, but Varric wedged his boot between the door and its frame.

    “Hold it.” Varric said. “Don’t worry, Junior. I’m not meddling with your sleep. We did well today, and you deserve the rest.” Junior grunted in agreement. “Mind if I speak with Hawke? We’ll only be a moment. I promise.”

     Carver raised an eyebrow.

    “Wait. Isn’t she with you?” Carver asked. He peaked around Varric.  Hawke, however, did not materialize behind him. “I mean, she wasn’t here when I got back. I guess I just assumed. I mean, where else would she go?”

     So, Hawke was on the loose. Huh. This was about to get interesting.

     “Get some rest.” Varric said, and reached up to pat Carver’s bicep. “Don’t you worry, I’ll find her. It’s a big castle. But, she’s around here somewhere.”

     Skyhold was enormous.

     It was a fact, one that only became increasingly apparent the longer Varric searched. He tried the dining hall, the privy, the library, and the War Room, none of which wielded results. Varric was beginning to worry. Generally, Skyhold was a safe fortress. He trusted the men and women that protected its gates. Still, this was Hawke he was talking about. She always found a way to get into trouble. It’s just who she was.

     Varric left the castle. He trotted down the main staircase. It was a beautiful evening. Varric looked up, and witnessed a cluster of stars blinking overhead. Perhaps Hawke had taken a stroll. It was possible, but highly unlikely. Even before the rite, Hawke didn’t appreciate natural beauty. To her, a night sky was a night sky. The presence of stars did nothing to enhance the experience. It was a shame, really. Varric would enjoy it for the both of them.

     Varric supposed he should check the Battlements. She’d been there before. It was familiar (sort of). Hawke may have returned to the spot she first met the Inquisitor. It was a good a place as any.

     Varric passed by the tavern. Yes, there was a Tavern in Skyhold (because why not?). Surprisingly, the building was lit up. Just yesterday, it had been boarded up. Now, a sign hung above the door. It read: ‘The Herald’s rest’. Varric chuckled, it was an apt name. He couldn’t have chosen a better one himself.  ‘We’re all doomed, drink up while you can’ doesn’t have the same ring to it. If anyone deserved a place of respite, it was the Inquisitor. Though, Lavellan wasn’t really the drinking type. That archetype fell to Hawke.

     Wait.

    Varric paused, and spun around. It was entirely possible. Likely, even. He circled back, and pushed open the tavern door. At once, Varric’s senses were assaulted. There were voices, some of which he recognized, filling up the space. A bard, Maryden (Varric recalled), was stationed in the center of the room. She plucked at her lute, unbothered by the new patron. It was a lovely sight. The room was unbelievably bright, radiant even. No wonder Varric noticed it from afar.

     Despite being a tavern, The Herald’s Rest did not smell of cheap ale and vomit. It was only opening night. Varric supposed it would come with time. For a moment (and not a second longer), Varric was homesick. He missed the Hanged Man. He had a nice suite there, one that Varric had rented long before he met Hawke. In those days, however, he spent more time at the Tethras Manner. It was easier then. After the Deep Roads Expedition, everything went to shit. Varric could hardly return to his family home. SO, he found a new home at the Hanged Man. It had been his sanctuary for a number of years. There, Varric was at the center of the action. At the Hanged Man, Hawke was always nearby.

     Varric pushed through the crowd, and ended up at the bar. The Iron Bull, seated in a nearby chair, beamed down at him. He motioned for Varric to join him. Varric sat beside the Bull, who pushed a tankard of ale into his palm. It was a large mug for a normal human, let alone a dwarf. With a container that big, Varric felt rather silly. He tried to communicate this to Bull, but the Qunari would not listen. He seemed to find the disproportion quite comical.    

     “Varric, I’m glad you could join us.” The Bull said. Even after gifting Varric his mug, The Bull still had two flagons. One for each hand. “Isn’t this place a real beauty? I think the boys and I are going to like it here. Isn’t that right, Chargers?”

     The Bull’s Chargers roared in agreement.

     “That, I do not doubt.” Varric said, and surveyed the room. “Say, Bull? I could use your help, if you’re willing. I’m looking for a woman.” Bull raised his eyebrows (eyebrow, Varric supposed, he only had the one) suggestively. “A human woman, with white hair and blue facial tattoos. You haven’t seen anyone like that, have you?”        

     “You mean Hawke?” The Bull grinned. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. She came in about an hour ago. The Chargers were real excited. Hawke’s a bit of a celebrity.”

     Well, that was one mystery solved. Varric felt silly for worrying. Like always, Hawke was just fine. Well, not always. That was just a figure of speech.

      “I—uh—told them to back off.” Bull lowered his voice. “Leliana’s kept us informed. I mean, shit Varric. That’s a rough one. She looked so normal. Not that I expected anything different. ” He laughed. “She came in here, and Krem was on her like flies on shit. She’s got this look about her. Like, a ‘look at me wrong, and I’ll kill you’ vibe. She had to be someone. Someone—I don’t know— important.”

     Despite himself, Varric smiled. The first time he met Hawke, Varric had a similar reaction. Good to know that Hawke, while universally terrifying, was also a beacon for curiosity.   

     “I know what that’s like.” Varric said. “Is she still here?” Bull nodded. “In that case, mind if I keep the drink?”

     Hawke was alone.

     As per Bull’s instruction, Varric found her on the second floor. Upstairs, there were far fewer patrons. Maybe a dozen, or so. Hawke was seated at a stool, pressed up against the window. Hawke did not acknowledge his approach. Though, Varric was certain she saw him. He sat down beside her, placing the tankard on the table.

     “Hey there, Killer.” He said. “I’ve been looking for you. Well, more like scrambling. What are you doing all the way up here? Thought you’d be with Junior. Didn’t think you’d leave the room.”

     “Carver can do without me. As, I’m sure, you can, too.” Hawke said. “I was not aware I was obligated to stay.”

     “What? No, I didn’t say that.” Varric snorted. “You can do as you bloody well please. I’m just surprised. Why here?”

     “I used to like it.” Hawke said. “Places like this. Like the Hanged Man. It was chaotic, and messy. When I wanted a fight, I could find one. I used to like that too, the fighting.” She paused, and drew her attention away from Varric. “No one’s fighting here, though. I’m not quite sure. Maybe, it’s not like the Hanged Man?”

     Huh. Hawke was awfully chatty. For a brief moment, Varric felt guilty about leaving her behind. Could the Tranquil get lonely? No use to dwell on it. He was here now.

     “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” Varric laughed. “Nearly everyone at The Hanged Man was a criminal. Well, criminals, and the occasional Templar. Not that the two are mutually exclusive. Besides, half the fighting was your fault, not the Hanged Man’s. You never could resist starting a brawl. I’m not entirely sure it was intentional. You just have that effect on people.” He paused.  And, come on? That can’t be the only reason. What else was at the Hanged Man? Perhaps… your favorite dwarf?”

     “I wasn’t there for Isabela. Or the ale, for that matter. It was awful, wretched swill. Your own words.” Hawke said. “I went for you. I thought that much would be obvious.”

     Shit. This was getting awfully close to ‘feelings’ territory. Varric immediately backed off. He didn’t want either of them saying anything that they’d (well, that Varric would) regret.  He changed the subject. 

     “Speaking of ale… you should really try this.” Varric said, nodding to the tankard. “It’s not bad, leagues above any of the shit in Kirkwall. Though, that isn’t a very high bar.” He laughed. “It’s funny. The best booze in Kirkwall wasn’t in a pub. It was in a dusty mansion. And, you’d have to get through a Broody elf first. But, it was worth the risk.”    

     Hawke did not respond. Instead, she eyed the mug skeptically.

     “I do not want this.” Hawke decided.

     What? Hawke was no drunkard, but she was not one to pass up a drink. Or several.

    “You’re joking!” Varric chuckled. “Come on, Hawke. Look at it, it’s huge. I can barely hold it up. I’m afraid it’ll spill. Give me a hand, will you?”   

      Hawke shook her head.

     “If you are that worried, pour some out.” Hawke said. “I have no use for it. It doesn’t affect me. But, if I drink enough, I vomit. I can’t tell when to stop.”

     Well, Varric wasn’t going to argue with that. He’d seen Hawke vomit. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He lifted the tankard, and took a sip. It wasn’t that excellent, anyway.

     “Fair point.” Varric said, and yawned. “Are you tired? I’m absolutely beat.”

     Hawke considered it.

     “Yes. I would like to rest.” She said. “Take another sip, and we will depart. You will not be able to finish the entire tankard. It would be foolish.”

     He eyed the flagon, contemplating the challenge. In the end, Varric decided against it. Hawke was right. It was just too much.

      Hawke and Varric exited the Herald’s Rest. They passed through the tavern, and Bull caught Varric’s eye. He winked at Varric, which was strange (one eye, remember?). Once they were outside, Varric commented on the stars. Naturally, Hawke did not look. She had seen them before. It was nothing new. Sometimes, it surprised Varric just how well he knew her.

     Hawke followed Varric to his quarters. She watched, uninterested, as Varric changed into his nightgown.  As Varric did so, Hawke tucked herself into Varric’s bed. She had done it before. Actually, she’d done it a dozen or so times. This was, of course, before Josephine had moved Hawke to the guest wing.

     “I don’t have an extra bed roll in here, Hawke.” Varric smiled, and pulled his shirt over his head. He strolled over to the mirror, and began removing his jewelry. His necklace snagged around his ears, and he struggled to take it off. “After you relocated, Josephine sent someone to collect it. And mine’s all dirty. It got drenched in Crestwood today.” He motioned to his, now empty, pack. “You can have the bed, but I’m not going to sleep on the floor. I’ll be with Carver if you need anything.”

     “Don’t.” Hawke said. “You should not leave.”

     Varric rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a young dwarf, not by anyone’s standards. His back couldn’t stand a night on the cold stone.

     “Sorry, Killer.”Varric sighed. “I’m not staying. Varric Tethras isn’t easily won over. Well, not that easily.”

      “I know you do not wish to sleep on the floor. That is not a problem.” Hawke said. “I am perfectly fine sharing the bed. We have done it before.” She paused. “Many times.”  

     Varric cocked his head at Hawke. They hadn’t shared a bed, not in a long time. Really, like most things these days, it brought back memories. It was a side effect of having Hawke around (Varric supposed). He was being forced to re-live Kirkwall.

     Varric wasn’t a playboy. He hadn’t (didn’t) often share his bed. But, when he did, it was special. With Bianca, it had been special. She didn’t like to sleepover, and would only do so on occasion. She had a bed of her own, and a reputation to keep. They spent their days together, but not their nights. Never their nights. He spent those alone. Looking back, it should have been a sign. But, Varric was young (ish?) and entirely in love.

    The first time Hawke flopped onto his bed, Varric reached for Bianca (the crossbow, not the woman). It was late, and he had already been sleeping. He wasn’t expecting company, especially not Hawke’s. They had barely just met. She had no right to barge into his room. He wanted an explanation. But, she didn’t say anything. Typical. Hawke was entitled, even then. She simply turned on her side, and fell asleep.

     And so, it started a pattern. Not that Varric really minded. The walk from Lowtown to Hightown was dangerous. At night, it was worse. Hawke’s reputation grew, and she made a number of enemies. Varric was only watching out for his friend. It wasn’t about him (mostly). 

     It went on for a few years. Hawke wouldn’t stay often. It was just when she needed the bed.

    Then, Leandra died, and Hawke was devastated. Varric had never seen her grieve. She had lost her father, and her sister. Bethany, Varric recalled. Her name was Bethany. But, he hadn’t known Hawke then. He didn’t know she was capable of such grief. They didn’t talk about it, but Varric could see that Hawke was suffering.

     For a month, Hawke lived at the Hanged Man. She didn’t sleep at night. Instead, Hawke elected to take quick naps in the tavern. Varric didn’t know what to do, so he joined her. He helped the only way he could, and stayed by her side. That month was exhausting. Varric had never been so tired in his life.

     It’s also when he first knew. At two am, (covered in guts) killing some shit-dog lord, Varric knew. He was in love with Hawke. And damn, it was a shock.

     But, it shouldn’t have been. Not really.

     Hawke was rude and violent. She was short-tempered and greedy. She never wanted to do anything, not if it wasn’t done exactly her way. She never stopped to think about anyone.  Anyone, but herself, that was. And, she acted like her friends (Varric included) were a burden. It wasn’t true, but she liked to pretend. In summary, she was an impossible human being.

     But, Hawke was also wonderful. She was smart and light on her feet. She was skilled with a dagger, and even more so with a staff. She was funny, and quick to a barb. Her sense of humor was one Varric greatly appreciated. Hawke loved her brother, even when he was being a little shit. Hell, she loved Isabela, Merrill, Aveline, and Varric, too. They were her family. And (though she would deny it), Fenris and Anders, as well. The three did not get along, but Hawke cared about them. She didn’t have to, but she did.  It would have been better if she hadn’t.

     Most importantly, Hawke had chosen him. She had been by Varric’s side for seven years. And, it didn’t seem like she planned on leaving anytime soon. Varric wanted to tell her. Hell, it had taken him long enough. But, Hawke was still suffering. So he gave her time.

     Hawke got better. It took a while, but she was back to her old self. She was fighting, and yelling, and smiling again. Varric was so relieved.

     Hawke spent more and more time in Hightown, in her empty manor. It was a good thing. After Leandra’s death (murder), the estate had fallen into a state of disarray. Hawke did not clean, and she no longer had Bodahn and Sandal to do it for her. They had left (to Orlais of all places) not longer after Leandra died. Unlike Hawke, Lady Amell cared for them. They were quite saddened by her death. They didn’t have much of a reason to stick around. Hawke had dismissed them. It was an act of kindness, really.

      Or maybe, Hawke had just wanted to wallow alone.       

      Varric missed the eccentric dwarves. Perhaps, he and Hawke could seek them out. That was, if they were still in Orlais. Maybe Varric would ask Josephine. Surely, she’d be able to find out.

     Hawke stopped coming to the Hanged Man. In fact, she stopped talking to Varric all together. It stung. It stung hard. The two of them had spent months together. It was strange, Varric was used to their cohabitation. Then, nothing. No visits. No letters.  He stopped by the estate, but she was always out.  Varric felt used. And hurt. But, it was Hawke he was talking about. And Hawke (as Varric had said time and time again) was never simple.

     She came around, and things went back to usual. Well, not quite. Hawke no longer stayed in Varric’s suite. She would no longer fall into his bed. It was the end of an era. And, Varric began to doubt his feelings.

      He decided not to tell her. He would do it one day, just not yet.  Little did he know, he’d never get the chance.

     “Hawke.” Varric whispered. “Is that really a good idea?” he paused. “Let me join Carver. Or you can. That way, you’ll have your own bed. Wouldn’t you rather have your own bed?”

     “No.” Hawke said. “I wouldn’t rather. I don’t care either way. This way is just easier.”

     “You’re being difficult.”

     She didn’t respond. Hawke could be infuriating at times. Varric joined her on the bed. He leaned over the side table, and snuffed out the candle. Now, in the dark, he narrowed his eyes. Hopping (not literally) into bed, Varric pulled the covers over himself.

     She had won this round.

      “I’ve been wondering something. For quite some time, actually.” He paused, unsure if Hawke was listening. “After your mother died, almost three months after. You stopped coming by the Hanged Man.” Varric mumbled. “Do you remember why?”

      In the dark, Varric watched as Hawke shifted.

     “Yes.” Hawke muttered. It was barely audible. “I remember.”

     “And?”

      “I needed space. You did too.” Hawke said.

     “Oh.”

     “I was tired of looking at you.” She yawned. “And, the way you looked at me. It was different. Softer maybe? I didn’t like it. I didn’t want you to pity me.” She paused, and Varric chuckled. Leave it to Hawke to mistake love for pity. “It’s strange, now. I don’t remember what that felt like. I just remember that it did.”

     Ouch.

     “It wasn’t pity.” Varric muttered. “Just so you know. I don’t pity you, Hawke. Not even now.” 

     Hawke rolled over. Now, she and Varric were face to face. His eyelids were fighting (and losing) to stay open. He would be asleep in a matter of minutes.      

     “Ok.” Hawke responded. It was barely a whisper. Her eyes fell shut, and her shoulders slumped. “I believe you, Varric.”

     She went quiet. Without a doubt, Hawke was asleep.

     “Good.” Varric muttered to himself. His voice was muffled by a pillow. “That’s good. Good night Edyiss.”

    He’d have wished her sweet dreams, but neither of them dreamt. Not anymore. It wasn’t long before Varric joined her in slumber. It was the best sleep he’d gotten in ages.

     When Varric woke, Hawke was still by his side.

     He never wanted her to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed your daily dose of pre-tranquil Hawke. If you want, I have a short pre-tranquil Hawke fic [X](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7107151/chapters/16146355) (it's a semi-wip, be warned). Also, a higher rating (M, because, duh, Hawke's POV). So check that out. It's compliant with this, and set a month or so after Leandra died.


	6. Chapter 6

     Varric was bored.

     The Inquisitor, Stroud, Blackwall, and Carver had left for the Tevinter Ritual Tower. Originally, Varric was to accompany them, not Blackwall. But, Varric had requested to stay at Skyhold. Hawke, for obvious reasons, could not accompany Junior. Varric did not wish to leave her alone. Not for a second time. Not if he didn’t have to. Even so, Varric never enjoyed being left behind.

   It had been eleven days. Too long for Varric’s comfort. But, in all fairness, the Western Approach was on the opposite side of Orlais. And (unlike their dalliance into Crestwood), the journey to the Approach was arduous.  At the least Varric expected them gone for another week.

    Carver (despite his protest to the contrary) was eager to accompany the Inquisitor. His reunion with Stroud had done nothing to diminish his interest in the Warden situation. With each passing day, he became increasingly involved. It worried Varric. He’d love for Junior (and by extension Hawke) to be a part of the Inquisition. Varric was selfish that way. But, it was dangerous. Varric wanted his Hawkes as far away from danger as possible.    

     Before her departure, Lavellan issued a request.  With Josephine’s aid, Skyhold acquired two dozen new texts. Each of which alluded to (if not explicitly mentioned) blood magic and its ritual use. The material was scarce, true, but it was something. Varric had been tasked with research. So had Dorian.  

     Sparkler, for his part, was agreeable to the Inquisitor’s request. In truth, he had been delighted. Despite his showmanship, Dorian was quite the academic. Varric? Not so much.

    Varric was no dullard. He was clever, witty, and quite accomplished in his literary pursuits. But, he had not received a traditional education. Not like Dorian, anyhow. Fortunately, Sparkler didn’t begrudge Varric’s aid. The two of them worked together quite well. Though, at times, Varric still wished he was with Lavellan.        

     “Varric?” Dorian asked.

     The mage was seated upright, nestled into his crimson armchair. Varric was considerably lower to the ground (as usual). He had borrowed, well stolen, a wooden stool from the Main Hall. It had been quite the hassle smuggling it up to Dorian’s library alcove. Varric was certain that Leliana had watched him do so. But, by the time Varric glanced at the railing above, the Spy Master had vanished. Typical Leliana.

     Varric leaned backward, and placed the tome on the shelf. It had been useless, anyhow. Hawke reached for it.

     Hawke was seated in the windowsill. She was thin enough to perch precariously on the edge. Hawke adjusted her posture, and the sunlight streaming into the alcove shifted. It was a common occurrence, her shadow expanding and contracting on the tile floor. Back in Kirkwall, Hawke would have hated this setting.  She was literate, but not an accomplished reader. Though Hawke was intelligent, she did not have the patience. Varric smirked as Hawke reclaimed the tome. He doubted very much that she would get much out of it. Varric restrained himself from commenting. It was in poor taste.  

     Dorian stretched out his elbows, rolling his shoulders backwards in half-circles. Afterwards, he thrust an open tome in Varric’s direction. Varric took it.

     “I was debating the use of ‘betwixt’, on line one-seventeen.” Dorian hummed. “Do you believe d’Evaliste intended it as ‘between’ or ‘neither nor’?”  I’ve read it thrice now, and cannot decide.”   

     He skimmed the line, and passed the text back to Dorian. There wasn’t much ambiguity.

     “Between.” Varric sighed. “Don’t over think it.”

     Hawke shifted again, and a beam of late afternoon sun engulfed Varric’s vision. Reflexively, he closed his eyes and yawned. Despite Skyhold’s typical bite, the alcove was quite warm. A nap wasn’t out of the question, was it? Surely, Dorian wouldn’t mind. 

     Varric re-opened his eyes. His gaze drifted to the rotunda below. For a moment, there was a flicker of light. Then, Varric was looking straight at Cole.

     The Kid was one floor down, leaning against the writing desk. His form was corporeal, hat rested floppily atop his head. His lips were moving furiously, and Varric strained to hear. It was an impossible task. The Kid was only herd by those he wanted to hear. Apparently, Varric wasn’t it.

     A slim hand reached out, and rested on Cole’s shoulder. Upon identifying its owner, Varric suppressed a grimace.

     Varric did not like Solas. Like Dorian, he was a plethora of knowledge and arrogance. Varric couldn’t describe it (which was unusual for a wordsmith, such as himself), but Solas made him uneasy. There was something—Varric didn’t know—wrong about him? Skyhold’s resident apostate was a story. And, Varric was convinced there was more to that story than Solas let on. He had nicknamed the elf ‘Chuckles’. Mostly, it was to ease the tension. However, It did little to ease Varric’s suspicion.

     The Kid looked upward, and ceased his babbling. For a moment, Varric thought that Cole had noticed him. Instead, both Solas and Cole were staring right past him. Their gaze was affixed to the windowsill. They were focusing on Hawke.

     But, why? She wasn’t doing anything particularly interesting. Unless—

     Varric’s heart lurched.

     Oh.

     No. It couldn’t be possible. Could it? Hawke had been at Skyhold for weeks. How had Varric not thought of it earlier!? 

     “Hawke?” Varric said. He pushed himself up, and tore away from the stool. “I need you. Please, come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

     Hawke stood obediently.

     “Hold on. What’s this?” Dorian grumbled. “We’re not done. We still have three tomes to comb through!”  

     Varric, with Hawke in tow, was already at the stairwell. He apologized to Dorian, and shuffled down the stairs. He would come back later. Maybe. Their research didn’t matter. Right now, the only thing on his mind was Hawke.

     Varric could feel his pulse thrum. Something, some part of his life had left. It was gone for good, and Varric had accepted that. Hell, after years of trying, he’d finally been able to let go. Hawke was tranquil, and there was no turning back. It was okay because she was alive. Despite it all, she had the rest of her life ahead of her. Even if that life was an empty one. A life without joy.

     But now, for the briefest of seconds, Varric remembered what it was like to hope. He remembered what if felt like to hope, and maker, wasn’t it a wonderful feeling. In a crazy spur of the moment, Varric wondered why he ever abandoned this feeling. It was magnificent, and all encompassing.

     Then, Varric remembered Bianca.

     Bianca had left him. They weren’t going to elope. They weren’t going to run away. Bianca was not just a part of his life. Day in, day out, she had become Varric’s whole life. And, when she left, there was something missing.  Most of the time, Varric filled that void with planning for the Deep Roads. It worked, for a while. But, she was gone, and Varric noticed. He spent a year, and one really long night in an alleyway, hoping for her to return. But, then he gave up hope. She was married, and in Orlais. Besides, he had a new life. A life centered on adventuring, and a very hostile mage. Varric was doing fine, he didn’t have to hope. She was gone, and Varric wasn’t going to waste any more time. It still stung, but there was no changing the past.

     Then, Bianca showed up at the Hanged Man. Her husband, Bogdan, had left to Starkhaven for business. In his absence, she had returned to visit “family” in Kirkwall. Varric hadn’t seen her in two years. At the time, it had been everything Varric wanted. Bianca, his love, had returned to Varric. And it had felt like a second chance.

     Despite it all, he hoped she would stay. Varric hoped that this time, she would choose him. But, she didn’t. She returned to Orlais, and left Varric behind. And Varric, despite his two years of acceptance, was back on square one. He’d go on to want her back, for three years. And then, somewhere in there, he’d stop.

     Because, somewhere in there, he’d start loving Hawke.    

     Varric burst into the rotunda. He scanned the room, gaze flickering over the entire space. There was nothing. Varric’s heart sunk, Cole was nowhere in sight. Varric assessed his options. The kid must have vanished. But, why? Had Varric scared him off? The kid was rather skittish. It wasn’t entirely unlikely.

  Behind him, Hawke entered the room. Instead of hustling, she had adopted a languid pace. It was no different that her usual ridged walk. She was completely unperceptive to his frantic state. Next to Varric, she was the epitome of indifference.

     “Lady Hawke.” Solas greeted. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Varric speaks of you quite fondly, as I’m sure you know.” He smiled. “You may call me Solas. I serve the inquisition as a fade expert, as well as a companion within Lady Lavellan’s inner circle. If you don’t mind my asking, to what do I owe this impromptu introduction.”    

     Hawke assessed Solas, eyeing him up and down.

     “No. I do not mind.” Hawke answered. “Varric intended to introduce me to a ‘someone’. Am I to assume this ‘someone’ is you?”

     Varric and Solas locked eyes. He did not remove his gaze as he spoke.

     “I think not. I’m sure he had another on his mind.” Solas said jovially. “I do believe that our Varric forgot I was down here. But, I had wished to meet you, after all.”

     “Did you?” Varric asked curiously. He hadn’t expected that. “And why’s that?”   

     He nodded at Varric, before returning his attention to Hawke.

     “What happened to you was such a tragedy.” Solas lowered his voice. “It is a fate that no mage should endure. I cannot imagine what is must be like. To be cut away from the fade.” Solas’ lip twitched. “A true injustice has been done to you, Hawke. And I would like to offer my deepest condolences. It is my hope that you can find peace within the remaining time.”    

     Varric really hadn’t expected that. Solas had sounded genuine. It was alarming.

     “Your sentiment is noted.” Hawke said. She turned to Varric. “I’m sure Varric appreciates it. Varric? I am not here for Solas. Who am I to meet?”

     “What?” Varric asked. “Oh right.”

     Varric re-assessed the room.

     Cole liked to watch. Upon his arrival to Skyhold, Cole had spent countless hours watching the injured lay upon their cots. That was, until the Inquisitor caught him. He ended up slaughtering a soldier, and the Inquisitor lost her temper. If Varric had to guess, the Inquisitor hadn’t meant to. The kid was unnerving. Everyone, apart from Varric and Solas, were quite vocal about their skepticisms. Lavellan didn’t want him to be bad. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity.  So, she banned Cole form the medical tent. Since then, Cole kept his distance.

     Varric wasn’t quite sure where the Kid was hanging out these days. Since Hawke arrived, he hadn’t paid Cole much attention. Still, Varric knew Cole. He had known him since Haven. The Kid liked to help, and right now, Varric needed help. Cole wouldn’t have gone far. Varric was certain of it.

     “Cole?” Varric called. He raised his palms, and paced in a circle around the room. “Please. If you are here, I’d like you to meet Hawke.”

     He waited.

     “I said please, kid.” Varric whispered. “I could use your help.”

     A kid with a floppy hat manifested before his eyes. He was seated upon the tile floor, tracing invisible patterns with his index finger. Varric jumped in surprise (as he always did when Cole manifested). Hawke did not react. Varric hadn’t really expected her too.

     “Dark, damp, and shapeless.” Cole responded. “Fingernails scraping, scratching, bleed on glass. A place, a place that is grainy. Far away, even bloody fingertips cannot reach.” Cole placed his hand in his lap. “I don’t like them.”    

     Them? Oh. For the second time, Varric’s heart sank. He meant the Tranquil.

     “You saw her earlier.” Varric said. His voice rose, hotly. “I saw you, Kid. You pointed her out to Solas. You were muttering something.”

     “I do not like them.” Cole repeated. “I want to help. They are behind glass. I cannot help. It hurts not to help.”

     Cole, who had not yet looked up, went back to clawing at the floor.

     “I know I’m asking a lot.” Varric’s voice quivered. “But, can you try. I’m asking you kid. I need you to try. And if you can’t, then you can’t. But, I need to know. ”

     Cole got to his feet.

     “I know.” He appeared next to Hawke. “Ok Varric, I can help.”

      Varric, Cole, Hawke, and (presumably) Solas were cast into silence.  

     Varric looked up at Hawke. She was hauntingly pale, her veins visible underneath the surface of her skin. Her nose hooked, and the blue tendrils of the tattoo only exacerbated its shape. She was bony, and scrappy, and muscular (in the strangest of places). But, all together, was his Hawke. He loved her, and in that moment, was terrified. If this didn’t work, he couldn’t go back to square one. 

     Varric couldn’t do it. Not again. This time, Varric wasn’t sure he could resist the urge. He’d have to tell her. So, he steeled himself. This wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen.

     Never the less, Cole spoke.

     “We don’t say it.” Cole whispered. “Still, it sits on the tip of my tongue. Words, just words, which manifest in actions. Actions, the things I do for you. Just like tonight. Tonight, we are surrounded by bodies. Everyone around us, dead. Just killing time.”

     Cole clasped the side of his head. He flickered out of existence, and re-manifested. Apparently, the kid didn’t much like the sight.

     Varric couldn’t breathe. Was this Hawke? Was he hearing Hawke’s thoughts?

     “Please.” Varric Whispered. “Don’t stop.”

     “It is late. I am just so tired. We both are. We lock eyes. I’m going to say it. It buzzes at my lips. My teeth clench. I want to be around you. I notice when you’re gone. Without you, I am lonely. I don’t want to be alone. Don’t leave me. Not again. Not again. Not again.”

     Varric stopped breathing. What was he hearing? This, it wasn’t right. Varric recognized it, but it didn’t sound like Hawke. No. It didn’t sound like her at all.

     “But I can’t tell her.” Cole sighs. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

     No.

     No.

     No. 

     That wasn’t Hawke Cole was hearing.

     It was Varric.

     “That’s enough.” Varric whispered.

     “She is still broken. She doesn’t have anyone left. Just me. And I cannot take that from her. Not like this. I have to give her time.”

     “Cole!” Solas intervened. “Varric has had enough. This does not help. You are no longer helping.”

     Cole stopped abruptly. He lowered his head, hiding his face underneath his enormous hat. 

     “I’m sorry.” Cole apologized. “The Hawke is silent. But you are so very loud.”

     The room was cast in to silence.

     Shit. 

     “I didn’t mean to upset you, Kid.” Varric sighed.

     “I know.” Cole said.

     He blinked out. Then, it was only Solas, Hawke, and Varric.

     Solas, for his part, had returned to his desk. He propped open a book, and began to flip through the pages. Varric caught his attention mid-flip. The elf raised an eyebrow, waiting for Varric to speak. In truth, Varric didn’t have anything to say. Not really. So, Varric left the rotunda. Hawke watched, quietly, as he did so. Hopefully, she’d be okay without him.

     Right now, Varric needed to be alone.     

\--

     A week passed.

     Varric (and an unconscious Hawke) were spending the afternoon in the Skyhold garden. Hawke had fallen asleep under the mountain sun. Currently, she had Varric’s right arm pinned under her calf. Varric considered breaking free, but he didn’t wish to wake Hawke. In the past few nights, she hadn’t been sleeping. Varric thought she deserved the rest. It was, after all, one of their first days off.

   Dorian and Varric had gleaned all that they could from the tomes, and decided to end their partnership the day before. In the end, they hadn’t found anything of real importance. Not that Varric had expected to. Corypheus was a whole new threat. Therefore, this was all new magic. Still, Varric didn’t begrudge the Inquisitor for trying. Truly, they did the best they could. Hopefully, Lavellan would return with a much greater success.

     Varric was about to join Hawke in slumber. Really, it was a beautiful day, and he had nothing better to do. Unfortunately, his slumber was postponed. Across the courtyard, a man called his name. Varric watched (not bothering to raise his head) as a pair of boots approached. If Varric had to guess, they belonged to one of Cullen’s men. The uniform was standard.

     “Afternoon, sera.” The boots (or, more likely, the man wearing them) said. “The ambassador has tasked me with—”

     Ambassador, huh? Perhaps Varric had been incorrect.

     “—hunting me down?” Varric supplied. “Ruffles certainly wouldn’t be the first. Don’t believe me? Just ask the Seeker. She’s an expert on the subject.” Varric chuckled to himself. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m only joking.”

     The feet shuffled uncomfortably.

     “hmm, I see. Straight to business, then.” Varric said. “Let me guess. The Inquisitor’s back, and Curly’s already talking strategy.”

     “Indeed, the Inquisitor has returned.” The soldier said. “She has located the remaining Wardens, and is ready to begin plans for the assault.” He paused. “But, not at this moment. It is the Lady Ambassador, not the Lady Inquisitor, that requests your presence.”

     Varric cocked an eyebrow. Well, that was a new one.

     “Please, sera Tethras.” The man whispered. “The matter is somewhat urgent.”   

     “Alright. Alright.” Varric huffed. “Where to? The War Room?”

     “Er, yes.” The soldier said. “With haste.”

     Without ever bothering to look up, he dismissed the pair of boots.

     Varric eyed Hawke. She looked at peace; eyes shut and mouth slightly ajar. Fortunately, his exchange with the soldier had not woken her. Unfortunately, he was still pinned under her calf. Varric supposed there was no use dallying. He dug his arm out from under Hawke, and (predictably) woke her in the process.

     Hawke (thoroughly dazed) blinked lazily down at him. 

     “Varric?” She grumbled, and yawned. “Where are we?”

     Shit.

     “Hey there, Killer.” Varric grinned. “Care to join me on a little adventure?” 

     On the way to the War Room, Varric and Hawke passed through Josephine’s office. Her desk, unsurprisingly, was vacant. She, along with Leliana, were likely alongside the Commander. As Varric drew closer, he caught sight of a woman. Varric recognized her as one of Josephine’s assistants. She was stationed next to her desk, sorting through a thick pile of documents. The woman, noticing Varric and Hawke, set down a few scrolls of paper. Her eyes glazed over Hawke, and locked on Varric.

     “I’d wait, if I were you.” She advised. “That is, at least until the yelling stops. It’s been giving me a headache.”

     As if on cue, an explosion of curse words came from up ahead.

     “WE WON’T BE STAYIN’! THERE AINT NOTHING STOPPING US FROM GOIN’.  JUST TRY ME.”

     Ah, of course.

     Varric chuckled. He knew that voice. Junior was back. And, he’d finally exploded. Honestly, Varric was surprised it had taken him this long.

     “Well Hawke, this is goodbye.” Varric joked. “It’s been great, really. Murderous Wardens, Archdemon attacks, plenty of blood mages, and crazy Templars, just like home.”

     “You say that, Varric.” Hawke said. “But you hated leaving Kirkwall.”

     Varric grinned.

     “This is the ass end of Thedas.” He chuckled. “Do you know they eat snails here? Maker, it’s disgusting.”

     Hawke did not respond.

     “WE’RE NOT PART OF YOUR RUDDY INQUISTION! I DON’T HAVE TO DO ‘NOTHING.”

     Oh, right.

     “Maker.” The assistant groaned, and rubbed at her temples. “I changed my mind. Get in there, and make him stop.”

     Varric, heading her advice, entered the War Room. It was quite the sight. Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra were stationed at one end of the War Table. Josephine, accompanied by a single guard, was seated along the far wall. Josephine watched (frowning as she did so) as Junior angrily paced the length of the room. Every third step, Junior froze to pound the wall. Josephine caught sight of Varric, and promptly got to her feet.

     “Varric.” Josephine sighed in relief. “Thank the Maker.”

     Carver, along with the remaining advisers, turned to face Varric. Without warning, Carver lunged toward Varric.

     “I’m not goin’ ta allow this, Varric.” Junior spat. “This is where I draw the line.”

     “Junior, you just got here. I don’t know shit.” Varric responded evenly. “What’s going on?”

     “You don’t know shit?” Junior repeated, mockingly. “ _You_ brought us here. These are _your_ people. How about _you_ tell me, Varric. WHAT IS GOING ON?”

     CRACK!

     Unnoticed, the Inquisitor had entered The War Room. She slammed the door shut behind her. Varric was impressed. That thing was massive, it weighed at ton. The Inquisitor had made it look effortless.   

     “This is a place of business, Carver Hawke.” Inquisitor Lavellan hissed. “You will cease your retching, effective immediately. I will not have my War Room turned into a kennel. Do you understand?”

     Carver scowled, but nodded, never the less.

     “Good.” She said, and motioned to the empty stools next to Cullen. “Take a seat, and we can begin. We have a lot to discuss.”

     “No. I already told you lot, I WON’T LET—” Carver opened his mouth to continue, but was quickly silenced.

     “I have already heard your opinion on the matter.” The Inquisitor put up a hand. “And it is noted. Right now, I wish to hear from Varric and Hawke. So, if you wish to remain, lower your voice.”

     Carver froze, contemplating his options. Junior looked liked he wished to argue further, but did not wish to be expelled from the War Room. Lavellan took advantage of his hesitation. 

     “Take a seat, little Hawke.” She Instructed. “I will not ask again.”

     Everyone, Varric included, sat.

     “Cullen?” The Inquisitor said. “The briefing, if you please.”

     Cullen spoke of the events at the Tevinter Ritual Tower. The Inquisitor had finally met with the Orlesian Grey Wardens. The Wardens were planning on building army to combat the Blight. The thought of mage bindings’ was an alarming one. Blood magic was one thing. Binding a mage to a demon? That was completely different. According to Stroud, the Wardens were using Adamant as a base of operations. Cullen finished his briefing with the plans to assault Adamant fortress.

     For once, it was nice to have a solid plan.

     Upon review, it was all pretty alarming. The thought of Corypheus having another army (of Grey Warden mages, no less!) was not a pleasant thought. But, Junior’s outrage was still a mystery. So far, Varric had not heard anything that would so enrage the younger Hawke.      

     “I don’t like this.” Varric grumbled. “All the Orlesian Wardens, under the control of Corypheus? That just reeks of trouble.”

     “Not quite.” Lavellan shook her head. “I don’t think they are all under his control. As far as I can tell, it’s only the mages. As for the rest? They are just…seduced?” She paused. “I don’t think they really know what’s going on. It’s possible that they are just following orders. There has to be some Wardens, like Stroud, that don’t agree with this ritual. With any luck, we might be able to change their minds.”

     “Right, change their minds.” Varric scoffed. “They think we’re just a bunch of radical heretics. Smashing our way into their fortress, and slaughtering their mages, won’t really help our image.”

     “I know.” The Inquisitor said. “And it’s unfortunate, but unavoidable. We need to get inside. From there, we will try our best to convince them.”

     “They will not listen.” Hawke supplied. “They do not trust you.”

     “I know that too, Hawke.” Lavellan sighed. “And that’s why we need you.”

     Varric and Junior locked eyes. Varric did not have all the information, but their agreement was unspoken. Whatever it was, Varric would not allow Hawke to be in danger. And this? This sounded like danger. Varric and Carver spoke in unison.

     “I said, no.” Carver grunted.

     “What?” Varric echoed.

     “You, Hawke, are one of the most recognizable people in Thedas.” The Inquisitor smiled, tuning out Junior’s angry sputtering. “The Wardens are unlikely to surrender to me. After all, they have been primed to hate me. I’m a heretic; a celebrity upstart, born from the rift in the fade. But you? They already know you.”

     “No.” Varric whispered.  

     Of course they knew her; Varric’s book had ensured it. He had had a hand in her fame.

     “They trust you.” The Inquisitor continued. “If anyone could convince them to surrender, it would be the infamous Champion of Kirkwall.”

     “I said no.” Varric repeated. “I brought her here to help. To advise. Not to be brought into the center of a Maker dammed siege!”

     From the corner, Leliana stood up.

     “Think of all the lives it would save, Varric.” She whispered. “Have you stopped to consider that?”

     “I don’t care.” Varric retorted. “It’s too dangerous!”

     “We could spare her a guard.” Cullen suggested. “Not many, we still need men and women for the siege, but a few good soldiers. I’ll see to it.”

     “That isn’t enough!” Varric argued. “You people!” He eyed Cassandra wearily. “What don’t you understand? What if a fade rift opens up? While her soldiers are busy fighting, she’s defenseless. How many times do I have to say this, Hawke is tranquil! I can’t let her go into battle alone.”

     The room fell into silence. For a while, no one spoke.

     “Then come with me.” Hawke suggested.

     Varric gaped at her.

     “Both of you.” Hawke looked at Carver. “and the Inquisitor. Do you not trust your combined strength?”  

      Before Varric could voice his ‘no’ (yet again), Junior beat him to the first word.

    “Edyiss?” Junior whispered. “Is this really something you want to do? Are you certain?”

     What? Absolutely not. What was Carver thinking? They had made a silent agreement.  

     “I don’t want to do anything, brother.” Hawke said. “I do not care, either way. But, I was brought to help the Inquisitor. And this is something I can do. Why else would I be here?”

     Varric felt his chest pound. She wasn’t wrong. He had brought her here to help (among other selfish reasons), and he knew it would never be risk free. But this? Bringing Hawke into battle was much more than uncalculated risk. It was tempting fate.   

     “I appreciate it, Hawke. I will do everything in my power to prevent you from harm.” The Inquisitor promised. “Though, there will be risks. I cannot guarantee your safety.”

     “I know.” Hawke responded. “And I understand.”

     Varric let out a breath. It was louder than expected, Varric wasn’t aware he’d been holding it.

     “So that’s that, Hawke?” Varric asked. “You’ve made up your mind? Is there any use trying to change it.”

     This exact speech, Varric had delivered before. On numerous occasions. Like usual, Hawke squared her shoulders, and turned to face Varric. For a moment, the rest of the room faded to black. In the most poetic way, it was just the two of them. Or, at least, that’s what it would have been if it was one of Varric’s novels. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a serial. This was his life. And the rest of the room, along with the people in it, still existed.

     “I’ll say no.” Hawke said. “I’ll say no, but only if you tell me to.”

     His speech was the same, but her response was different. The Hawke he knew (the pre-tranquil Hawke) didn’t ask. She just did. When Hawke wanted to do something, no matter how much Varric pleaded, she would. Watching Hawke ask for his permission, it was surreal. It was wrong.  

      And, so, Varric couldn’t.

      So instead, he turned to the Inquisitor.

     “Fine. Let’s make a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I’m a bit late; I had final exams and travel!


	7. Chapter 7

     Varric hated the plan. Which (naturally) surprised no one.

     Four days ago, the Inquisitor had elected to begin the march on Adamant fortress. After the decision, Varric felt uneasy. For the first time, the Inquisition had mobilized their soldiers. This mobilization was an undisputable show of force. Soon, all of Orlais would see the sheer size of their army. There was no more hiding in the Frostback Mountains. With each village they passed, awareness spread. An army had been forming in Orlais’ backyard, and only now were they beginning to notice.

     The whole thing put Varric on edge.

     Thankfully, Varric had more pressing concerns. Which… was actually quite strange. Varric wasn’t typically thankful for additional woes. But, his hatred for ‘the plan’ lessened his other concerns.

     For the past few days, Varric had been quite vocal. At first, the Inquisitor had been patient with him. This, Varric greatly appreciated. But, after about the fourteenth iteration, she was less patient. Surprisingly, it was Lady Vivienne who told Varric to: ‘kindly shut up, my dear’. After a certain point, even Junior seemed weary of Varric’s frequent displays of dismay.

     So much for their solidarity.

     “We know that already, Varric.” Junior grumbled. “Don’t’cha think she’s already thought it? Even I already thought it.”  

     According to Cullen, it was a solid plan. The Inquisitor, with Hawke by her side, was to storm the front gates. Junior and Varric, of course, would be (oh so graciously) permitted to follow from behind. From there, lady Vivienne would cast a steady stream of barriers. These barriers would encompass both Hawke and the Inquisitor, securing their entrance into the fortress. Afterward, it would be up to Varric and Carver. They needed to separate from the Inquisitor (and the danger she drew), and find an alternative route. Preferably, a safer route.   

     But even with the posse (Lavellan, Carver, Vivienne, and himself) protecting Hawke, there was no guarantee that Hawke would be safe. There had to be some other way of getting Hawke into the fortress. A back route? Or maybe a secure tunnel? But, Cullen was adamant (ha! get it?). Apparently, the safest way was knocking on the front door. Go figure.

     Well, Varric supposed, it wasn’t over. He still had another few days to find a better alternative. Until then, he’d keep up with his ‘whining’.

     At the moment, the Inquisition was regrouping in the outskirts of Val Firmin. It was a small town, located South of Lake Celestine. The Inquisition had been marching, with limited rest, for four days. The soldiers (not to mention Varric) needed a break. So, Lavellan ordered an afternoon of respite. They were still on schedule to reach Adamant, anyhow. An afternoon off wouldn’t cause any delay.

     Varric, unfortunately, wasn’t offered the time off. Instead, Varric, Carver, Hawke, and the other members of the Inner Circle, were called to the Inquisitor’s tent.

     The tent had been set up shortly after their arrival in Val Firmin. It was about the size of Varric’s quarters back at Skyhold. Which, was to say, it was not large. It was much too small to fit the Inquisitor, her advisers, her inner circle, and both Hawke siblings. To rectify this, they were divided into smaller groups. In the end, Varric, Carver, Hawke, Cullen, and Lavellan squished together inside.

     Varric noticed it immediately.

     The tent was hot. It was almost unbearable.  He was no longer in the mountains. Here, the afternoon sun was absolutely murderous. Cullen, who was seated next to the Inquisitor, was red in the face. His blonde curls, which were usually well maintained, stuck to the sweat of his forehead. Every few moments, his gaze drifted to the tent flaps. Varric could almost visualize his thought process. Sure, opening them wasn’t the best tactical move. Their army was large, and Cullen had to be cautious for wandering ears. But, alternatively, there would be no tactics if he perished in a smoldering tent.    

     Cullen stood up, and opened the flaps.

     Good man.

     “For the sake of time, I’ll make it quick.” The Inquisitor said, waving her hand loftily in a ‘sit down’ motion. “I have just been in council with Lady Josephine. She and I have been discussing both Carver and Edyiss’ role in the upcoming battle. There are a few ideas I would like to run by you.”

      Hawke nodded, and took the unoccupied seat at the Inquisitors left side. Varric and Junior followed suit, filling in the remaining seats.

     “Typically, I do not hold council to discuss matters of wardrobe.” The Inquisitor smiled. “But, I believe this is a special case.”

     “You’re joking.” Varric snorted. “Here we are, roasting alive, and holding a covert meeting about clothing? I’ve got to say, I think I’m hallucinating.” Varric grinned. “Just, whatever you do, don’t put me in that plaidweave nonsense. It really clashes with my—uh—everything. ” 

     “On that, we can all agree.” Cullen said, and promptly snorted.

     “I can assure you, Varric.” Lavellan smiled back. “I would never intentionally outfit you in such a manner. But, that’s not exactly what I had in mind.” The Inquisitor paused, and directed her attention to Carver. “Thanks to Stroud, I have secured a set of official Grey Warden armor. Carver Hawke, I would have you wear it in the coming battle.”

     Well, that was unexpected. And (if Varric was being honest) semi-hypocritical.  Varric remembered when Carver first arrived at Skyhold. In the War Room, Lavellan had spouted some bullshit on Carver being a ‘deserter’. Or, something like that. Whatever, it hardly mattered now. Even so, coming from Lavellan, it was an absurd request.

     “I—” Carver stammered. “I haven’t worn—not in ages, anyway. Why?”

     “Lady Josephine believes it will help with our image.” Lavellan responded. “And I agree. We want them to trust us. To make them believe we are on the same side. The more Wardens among our ranks, the better. Stroud is hardly enough.”

     “I guess.” Carver muttered. “But, I’m not exactly the ideal Warden, am I? I mean, I haven’t really been ‘round for a while. Chances are they won’t wanna listen. Not to a toss-up like me, anyway.”  

     “I’ll take what I can get.” Lavellan said, and place her hand on top of Carver’s. “Besides, little Hawke, you’ll be under all the armor. It’s doubtful that any Warden would even recognize you. You’ll fill the role just fine.”

     Huh. Since the start of their relationship, neither the Inquisitor nor Carver had been overly friendly. But, the Inquisitor’s words had surprised Varric. It had all seemed rather…genuine. Not that the Inquisitor wasn’t a genuine woman, quite the opposite actually. It was just strange to witness her bouts of affection. Not for the first time, Varric was glad to be part of her Inner Circle.

     Really, the Inquisitor was a good woman. Like with Hawke, you sometimes just had to look past the surface. Which, ultimately, made her next words all the more difficult to hear.

     “As for you Hawke.” Lavellan said. “I would ask that you equip a staff.”

     Absolutely not.

     Back in Kirkwall, Hawke would parade her staff around. It was a badge of pride, not shame. Unlike the majority of apostates in Kirkwall, Hawke had immunity. She could stride around the gallows, fully equipped, and none of the Templars were permitted to act. It was just one of the perks of being champion. After a time, Varric got used to seeing Hawke with her staff. Honestly, it was strange to see her without it. But, it hadn’t always been that way. There was a time before Hawke was made champion. A time where Hawke did not have Amell immunity.  Back then, (like every other apostate in the city), Hawke had to hide her magic.

     This, of course, was before the Deep Roads. Hawke, and Junior, were refugees earning their keep. For their own safety, and anonymity, Hawke was forced to travel sans staff. In those days, Hawke wielded dual daggers. Actually, she was quite proficient with them. Hawke wasn’t an expert, but her performance was passable. As a mercenary, she made a believable rogue. In fact, when Varric first met Hawke, he didn’t suspect she was a mage.   

     But, that was a story for another time. Right now, Varric was preoccupied with his outrage.

     “Your effort will be futile” Hawke said. “If I have to remind you again, I will. I am tranquil. I cannot wield magic, nor use a staff.”

     “Why?” Varric shook his head, and turned towards Lavellan. “Like Hawke said, it’s not going to make her magic come back. Hell, if anything, it will make her more of a target.”

     Carver, who (just a moment ago) was reveling in the Inquisitor’s praise, snatched back his hand. 

     “Varric’s right. Besides, ‘s not like I have one to give her. ” Junior grumbled, and glared in Cullen’s direction. “You can ask your Commander about that one. I’m sure he’d be glad to share.”

     Before Tranquility, Hawke had carried a number of staves. Not that Varric remembered them. Back in those days, he just knew they occasionally changed. A few of them were snapped in battle. Others (supposedly) were tossed aside or sold (knowing Hawke, they were most likely sold). Hawke wasn’t a particularly sentimental woman. To her, a staff was just a staff. They could easily be replaced.

     But, years later, that changed. Hawke fought the Arishok. Hawke fought the Arishok, and miraculously won. After that fight, Hawke was free to parade around. The staff, the very one that won her fame and fortune, became a symbol of her defiance. It was the staff of a champion. She even had Sandal enchant it. It was one (of a very short list) material possession that Hawke actually gave a damn about.

     So, naturally, Meredith had it destroyed.

     “I didn’t—” Cullen stammered. “That wasn’t my doing.”

     “No.” Hawke agreed. “It was Meredith”

     Hawke sure knew how to dampen the mood. Well, if Varric was being honest, the mood was already pretty tense. If anything, she just made it more dour.

     Shit. Sometimes, Varric hated being the good guy.

     “We know, Curly.” Varric sighed. “And Junior does too. He’s just being pissy.” At that, Carver furrowed his brow. Junior didn’t like it when Varric made him seem childish. “We just haven’t seen Hawke with a staff in a number of years. Forgive us if we need a moment to process it. It brings back, well let’s just say unsavory, memories.”   

     “That is understandable Varric.” Lavellan said, and smiled earnestly. “I can be blunt at times, and I apologize. But, I do believe a staff holds merit.”

     Perhaps the Inquisitor was right. If they sent her in, seemingly defenseless (even though, she was!), Hawke could be in even more danger. And that, was the very last thing Varric wanted.

     “We have extra staves.” Cullen said, somewhat quietly. Carver had obviously shaken him. “As do we, as you might remember, have other mages. It would not be a concern.”  

     “Without a staff, she would appear to be defenseless.” Lavellan said, mirroring Varric’s concern. “I believe it would make her less of a target, not more of one.”

     “I will do it.” Hawke agreed (shit, Varric still wasn’t used to that). “Even if I still do not see the merit. I agree to carry a staff, for the sake of appearances.”

     “Thank you, Hawke.” Lavellan said. “Varric? Carver? Any thoughts?”

     Well (Varric supposed), if Hawke was going to be in battle. It might as well be like the old days.

     “No, not a one.” Varric said.

     “Not any pleasant ones, no.” Carver mirrored, and stood up. “If I do, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”

\--

     Of two things, Varric was certain. One, there was no alternative route. And two, it was going to be a blood bath.

     Even before the siege, Varric had his doubts. Despite Cullen’s (and his horde of lieutenants’) masterfully crafted strategy, Varric knew there was going to be casualties. It was unavoidable. Now, face to face with Adamant, Varric knew his suspicions to be true. This battle would be a mass slaughter, for both the Grey Wardens and the Inquisition. But, out of the multiple hundred soldiers in attendance, Varric found himself only worried about two. Lucky for him, both Hawke and Junior were within eyesight. At this point, worrying would do no good. Especially not mid-battle.     

     “Junior, fall left.” Varric hollered, and dove out of the way.

     Junior followed Varric’s command, and landed in the dirt. A chunk of stone soared through the air, and collided with the ground. Well, shit. It landed in the exact patch in which Junior had previously been standing. Talk about close calls.

     “Thanks.” Junior grumbled. “I was almost a gonner before this thing even got started. Can’t you just imagine how pathetic that woulda’ve been? Me, after all this, getting crushed by a big rock.”  

      Varric snorted, and rolled to avoid an arrow. He righted himself, and loaded Bianca. His bolt flew through the air, and landed in the temple of a female Warden. Technically, the Inquisitor had requested the Warden slaughter to remain at a minimum. The demons, after all, were the real foes. Unfortunately, the woman had been a good shot. If Varric hadn’t been, well, Varric, the arrow would have landed right between his eyes. Varric wasn’t willing to risk it.

     “I don’t know, Junior.” Varric teased. “Might be nice to get some peace and quiet after all this shit. WOAH—”

     Varric back-flipped (quite majestically, as if that mattered) away from a fireball.

     Afterward, Varric returned his gaze to the ramparts. The perimeter of Adamant fortress was carefully guarded. Both Grey Wardens and demons fought atop the battlements. Even commander Cullen, despite aforementioned strategy, had not expected an army of demons. Their mass quantity threw a loop in the plan. But, there was no turning back. Eventually, the Inquisition breeched on the main gate. As swords clashed on the frontlines, the casualties began to stack up. On either sides of Varric, a handful of Inquisition soldiers lay supine. It was a very discomforting sight.

     Instinctively, Varric searched for Hawke. She was up ahead, accompanied by the Inquisitor. The Inquisitor, brandishing her duel blades, did an adequate job maintaining a perimeter around herself and Hawke. As Varric watched, there was a flash of green. A transparent barrier engulfed both women, and shrouded them in an impervious veil. At least that part, Varric supposed, was going to plan.

     Enchanter Vivienne, decked out in white and gold combat robes, stood to the side. The hem of her dress was soaked in mud, and (from what Varric could see) speckled with blood and various fluids. She caught sight of Varric, and flipped her staff. The sharp end pierced the chest of a wraith, and it screamed in agony. The staff, still in motion made contact with the stone floor tiles. As it did so, the barrier around Hawke and the Inquisitor flashed. Vivienne raised an eyebrow in Varric’s direction. Although she spoke no words, Varric got the gist: ‘well, my dear. Are you going to keep staring? Or, join in?’. Varric chose the latter.  

     He let Bianca loose, and knocked out a wraith. It died mid lunge, and fell to the feet of the Inquisitor. 

     “Varric!” The Inquisitor called, and sidestepped the dead wraith remains.

     She drove the blunt end of her dagger into the jaw of a nearby Warden. The Warden toppled over, (unconscious, but otherwise unharmed). After, The Inquisitor (and Hawke) approached Varric. Upon closer review,  Lavellan was bleeding from a cut above her left eye. But, otherwise, she looked alright. Hawke, thank The Maker, was untouched. In this, Inquisitor Lavellan had kept her side of the bargain. Now, Varric supposed, it was his turn to keep up his side. 

     “It’s time!” Lavellan urged. “Take Hawke, and head toward the rendezvous point. With any luck, I’ll meet you there.”

     “You’d better.” Varric smiled. “I mean, Cassandra might make a decent Inquisitor—don’t tell her I said that—but she won’t have much ammunition against the rifts. Between us, without you, the world might be doomed.”

      “Um—anyhow.” Lavellan sighed, and scowled at Varric. “Varric, do remember why you are here.” She turned to face Hawke. “Hawke, you are to stay from harm. But, if the opportunity arises, you are to address and persuade. Is that understood?”

     “It is.” Hawke confirmed.

     BOOM!

     “Inquisitor!” Cullen shouted. “We need assistance.”

     Up ahead, the air loomed with green mist. Varric recognized it. It was the beginning stages of a fade rift. Any minute now, Varric expected a new wave of demons to pour through. Not for the first time, Varric was glad that Hawke and he were leaving.

     “Wonderful.” The Inquisitor grunted, and sprinted off towards the Commander. “Just what I was hoping for, more demons.”

     “Well, that’s our cue to leave.” Varric said, turning to the Hawke siblings. “Unless there are any objections?”

     To Varric’s dismay, Carver wasn’t listening. He craned his neck, and stared in the direction of the fade rift. It sparked once, sending bolts of green in every direction. Junior’s eyes widened. Varric himself was used to the luminescent tears in the sky. By now, they were second nature. But, Junior had yet to see one up close. It was, Varric supposed, a brilliant sight.

     The rift sparked once more, and expanded past its original dimensions. A deep, maniacal laugh filled the air, and sent a spike of unease down Varric’s spine. Varric recognized that laugh. Junior (who wasn’t as verse in ‘weird demon shit’) gasped. A pride demon erupted from the rift, and shattered the cobblestone beneath its feet. It honed in on the Inquisitor, and brandished its electrical whip. Well, shit. That was as much as Varric wanted to see. They needed to move. Now.

     “Seen enough, Junior?” Varric asked, and pulled at the younger Hawke’s gauntleted arm. “Or do you want to join the Inquisitor. I bet she’d let you take a shot at it, if you asked nicely.”

     “I—what—no.” Carver muttered, and tore his gaze away from the Pride demon. “I’m ready. Let’s get going.”

     Without further distraction, the three of them climbed the latter to the battlements. The main gates had already been breached. As a result, the battlments were vacant. Most of the Grey Wardens stationed here were now battling below. Only a handful of demons remained. Together, Junior and Varric made short work of the stragglers. 

     Hawke, Junior, and Varric cleared three corridors without trouble. Then, as inevitable as it was, they collided with a stray group of Wardens.

     In a turn of luck, the Wardens did not spare either Hawke or Varric any attention. They were too busy facing off with a small horde of terror demons. The demons erupted from the ground, and knocked several Wardens off their feet.  

     “Back!” A Warden shouted. “I said back, you beast. You fight for us.”

     Varric and Carver locked eyes. Really, there was only one option. They leapt, head first, into the fray.

     Throughout the battle, Varric periodically looked back at Hawke. Out of the corner of his eye, Varric saw Carver do the same. The demons (and subsequent Wardens) did not preoccupy themselves with Hawke. Finally, the battle was finished. Varric stowed Bianca, and turned swiftly to face the Wardens.

     “Woah, there.” Varric greeted. “Now that was a fight.”

     The Wardens (and Carver) did not lower their weapons. Varric was outnumbered, two fold. This wasn’t time to fight. The Inquisitor had given them a job. So, Varric placed a hand on the hilt of Carver’s sword, and put pressure on it. Carver picked up on his cue, and slowly let his sword down, until it dangled at his side.

     One of the Wardens, the one that had spoken earlier, stepped forward. He was a man of dark complexion and freckles.

     “Who are you?” He asked, and took a step towards Hawke. “Come forward.”

     “We’re with the Inquisition.” Varric said, evenly. “Hawke, if you could?”

     Hawke crossed the courtyard, and stood by Varric’s side. Without hesitation, the Warden drew his sword and brandished it at Hawke. In that moment, Varric and Junior were the only barrier between her survival and death. Well, not that it was anything new. It had been that way for years.

     “Don’t.” Hawke deadpanned. In typical Hawke fashion, she did not bother to lean away from the tip of his blade. “Killing me is not in your best interest. If you wish to live, I suggest you do as I say.”

     Well, shit. This was already off to a bad start. Why had they agreed to let her do the talking? Right, she was the most recognizable. Still, Varric was beginning to think that this was a disastrous idea. One, that was likely going to end in their ultimate demise.

     “You come here, Inquisition scum, and slaughter my people.” The man spat. “Do not pretend to know what is in my best interest. Right now, killing you is in my best interest.”

     “What do you believe is happening here?” Hawke asked, and lowered her gaze to the floor. There, at her feet, glittered the remaining corpses of the terror demons.  “That you are in control of them?” She kicked at the remains. “You are not. They do not relinquish control so easily. You are being misled.”

     Ouch.

     Varric hadn’t expected that. Hawke didn’t usually speak of demons. Even now, Varric suspected that it unsettled her. Or, at the least, it unsettled Varric and Carver. She (especially) did not speak of controlling demons.

    Hawke, Varric supposed, knew quite a lot about control. Or maybe (on second thought), she didn’t. There were questions (old questions) that Varric still didn’t have answers for. It had been a long time, over a decade. But, that day in the Deep Roads still haunted him. It was the day that Hawke almost lost Carver. It was the day that Hawke first used blood magic. It was the day that Hawke first met the demon.

     Varric didn’t know. Not truly. He’d never had the courage to ask. Even now.  Since that day, had Hawke ever truly been in control?

     “You expect us to be so easily swayed?” The Warden asked. “Tonight, I have lost my brothers and sisters.”

     Or right, the Wardens. Varric chastised himself. He was letting himself get carried away. Sometimes, the past was better left in the past.

     “To Inquisition soldiers, yes.” Junior agreed. “But to demons, as well. Or do you lot not see what I just saw?”

     “We—” The Warden hesitated. “Why should we listen to a word you say?”

     “Because,” Hawke answered. “My name is Edyiss Hawke, and I have seen it all before.”

     It was silent, after that. The lead Warden eyed Hawke curiously, obviously skeptical of her previous statement.

     “Sir.” A woman said.

     The head Warden whipped around, and faced his soldier. The woman was elvish, and fair skinned. As she caught sight of them, her face turned a particular shade of pink. Curious.

     “I think she’s telling the truth. I think that’s really Edyiss Hawke.” The woman continued, and pointed at Junior. “That man, right there. That’s Carver Hawke. Her brother, see? I served with him. He’s a Warden too.”

     “That’s right, I am. And—uh—hello again, Annette.” Carver said, and puffed out his chest. Ah, so that would explain the blushing. “My sister and I? We are not with the Inquisition. We’re not asking for surrender, or even a fight. We just need your ear. Believe me when I say, something is wrong.”

     Carver reached forward, but immediately retracted his arm. The Wardens were still hostile, after all. Thankfully, the Senior Warden hesitated.

     “I do not wish to discuss this further.” He stated. “Right now, I intend to take my Wardens and leave. Shall you permit it, or shall we fight?”

     Varric stepped to the side. Another fight was the last thing he wanted.

     “By all means.” Varric agreed. “But, do not disregard what was said here. If not for yourself, than for your fellow Wardens.” 

     The Senior Warden nodded, and lead his squadron out of the courtyard. Once they were gone, Varric turned to his Hawkes.

     “Nice work, Junior.” Varric praised. “I hadn’t thought you had it in you. You too, Hawke. That was impressive.”

     Neither Hawke nor Junior responded.

     From there, their party followed the Wardens, and pushed forward to the main courtyard. The siege had lasted less than an hour. Hopefully, it mean that Varric had been wrong about the ‘bloodbath’ theory. By the time they arrived, the Inquisitor (and her elected companions) had already entered the courtyard. Varric, Junior, and Hawke joined them.

     Up above, Warden Commander Clarel and Erimond stood watching over the courtyard. Varric had yet to see either of them in person. He only knew their descriptions from Commander Curly’s debriefing. Varric spared a glance toward Junior, and watched as the younger Hawke suppressed a growl. Carver, however, had seen the Erimond bloke at the Tevinter Ritual Tower. According to Carver, he was a nasty son of a bitch. He really did (now that Varric could see him first hand) look evil. It was the moustache, undoubtedly. In this case, the moustache screamed ‘I eat babies’.

     Clarel, however, was more of a surprise. She didn’t strike Varric as particularly villainous (no moustache in sight). Still, the Warden Commander’s hands and robes were stained red. Oops. That didn’t bode well for Varric’s pervious assessment.

     Varric noticed (with a small start) that a body lay at her feet. It belonged to an elvish Woman, obviously a Warden. Varric could not rightly tell, but by the pool of blood gushing from her neck, he supposed her throat had recently been cut.

     Apparently, Varric had a good sense for dramatic timing. 

     Oh (Varric noted as an afterthought), now the Inquisitor was screaming.

     “Listen to me!” The Inquisitor boomed. As she spoke, saliva sprayed from her mouth. It gave her a wild look, similar to that of a rabid Mabari. “I have no quarrel with the Wardens. I have spared those I could. So have my men. I don’t want to kill you. But you’re being used, and some of you know it, don’t you?”

     The Inquisitor turned to the Wardens at eye level. Her eyes tore through the crowd, locking on to a number of individual Wardens.

     “Will none of you speak a word?” The Inquisitor spat. “Will none of you speak for your fellow Wardens? For your Brothers? For your Sisters? For those who you have watched be so mercilessly slaughtered?”

     Stubbornly, the Inquisitor raised her chin and scowled at Clarel’s feet. As a unit, the Wardens followed suit, and watched their fellow warden continue to bleed out. Just as quickly as they had looked, the Wardens turned away. They already knew. They had already watched countless Wardens do the same. Varric searched the crowd.

     He caught sight of the small platoon, and their Senior Warden. Yes, their conversation had been brief, but Varric still hoped. Surely, one of them was brave enough to speak up.

     In a moment of pure fate, The Senior Warden and Varric locked eyes.

     “Shit, shit, fine. This is wrong.” The Senior Warden said, taking a step out of line, and towards Lavellan.

     From up above, Clarel scoffed.

     “Warden Chernoff, stand down.” Clarel shouted. “They only mean to mislead you.”

     “No.” Chernoff boomed, and swiveled to face his fellow Wardens. “Think of the mages. The ones who’ve done the ritual. They’re not right. They were our friends, but now they’re more like puppets on a string.”  

     “We make the sacrifices no one else will.” Clarel continued. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them. You cannot let fear sway your mind.”

     “He’s not afraid, you are.” Lavellan shouted, and balled her fists. Her whole being was vibrating, her rage obvious. “You are afraid that you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing.”

    “How dare—” Clarel began.

     It was then when Junior chose to speak. But, unlike the Inquisitor, he did not address the Warden Commander. He stood before the horde of Wardens on the ground, just like Chernoff did.

     In Kirkwall, Varric never saw Carver in action. Back then, Junior wasn’t anyone of import. Even with his Amell status, he was still just a recruit. To the Wardens, status was a non-issue. Therefore, Varric didn’t get to see this. He didn’t get to see Carver, in full uniform, address an army of Grey Warden soldiers. This was new.

     But, Varric couldn’t help thinking it. In the moment, Junior looked like a Warden. Even after all these years, he still seemed to belong. 

     “One day, I dunno.” Carver said. “You might die to stop the blight. So Might I. And it might be worth it. But not today. Not for this.”

     And that was all it took.

     One by one, the Wardens began to drop their weapons. They joined Chernoff (and Carver), and the Inquisition ranks. It was time to turn the tide.

     And then (like it always does) things went to shit.

     Because, apparently, Erimond was pals with Corypheus’ dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. (if you are so inclined), drop me a comment below. I 10/10 enjoy hearing from you. It boosts my ego. Also, motivation is HARD. It encourages me to write. <3


	8. Chapter 8

     Varric was cautious. But not afraid.

     Dragons, after all, were dangerous. They were ferocious beasts; both massive and deadly. To the untrained eye, dragons were truly terrifying. Corypheus’ dragon was no exception. It was huge, dark, and scarred all over. It stretched out its wings, and Varric noticed a great number of tears along the webbing.

     As a child, Varric had feared dragons. He was told stories. Mostly by his elder brother, Bartrand. Bartrand called them “harbingers of doom”. Varric was doubtful his brother believed it. No doubt, he was trying to terrify Varric. But, the image stayed with Varric. Into adulthood. Lucky for Varric, he lived in Kirkwall. There, dragons were not a threat. Not until the fifth blight, anyhow. Kirkwall was only a short flight from Denerim. A dragon could make it, easy. Luckily, Varric met Hawke. If anyone could have bested a dragon, it would have been her.

     Overhead, the dragon circled. Varric eyed it up and down. Maybe Bartrand hadn’t exaggerated, after all. Shit. This thing was bat-shit scary. It was unlike any dragon Varric had seen before.

     Varric had seen a number of dragons. In the Inquisition, dragons were part of day-to-day life. Well (that was), if Varric was permitted to exaggerate. The Inquisitor had already encountered half a dozen. Lavellan had yet to kill one, however. Varric suspected that she had no intention to. Lavellan had never said as much. But, in the past, she had ample opportunity. She was a Lavellan. Varric didn’t know much about the Dalish. It was an obvious gap in his knowledge (a shameful thing for an author). But, he suspected “death for sport” wasn’t as popular among their kind. Maybe he was wrong. Either way, the Bull would be disappointed. Bull seemed quite eager to best a dragon.

     CRASH!

     Varric jerked up his head. Above, the dragon landed on a stone ledge. It rested atop Erimond and Clarel, and sent a shower of stone down on them. On the ground, there was much commotion. The Wardens scrambled out of the path, escaping the rockslide. From what Varric could see, Erimond and Clarel were shouting at one another. Varric strained to hear in the commotion. He could not. Maker, Varric hoped fighting was a good sign. The Inquisition could use something good right about now.   

     “We need to get up there. Now!” The Inquisitor barked, refusing to tear her attention from the obsidian beast. “Commander Cullen, you know the plan. Take Blackwall and Vivienne. If possible, evacuate the Wardens. I’ll see you when this is over.” She exhaled, and took off sprinting towards the right side of the courtyard. “Hawke? Carver?  Varric? What are you doing? You three are coming with me.”

     Ah. Yes, it was dragon fighting time. Sure. Why not?

     Wait. Varric knew exactly ‘why not’.

     Varric hesitated, and turned toward Hawke. She was ahead, chasing the Inquisitor. This was not part of the plan. It could be dangerous. But, Hawke did not seem frightened. Varric shook his head (duh). It was a ludicrous thought. The Tranquil did not show fear. More than that, Hawke was fearless. She had always been that way. Even before the rite. Nothing bothered Edyiss Hawke. Not on the surface, anyhow.

     When Varric had met Hawke, she was in grieving. Not openly. But, Varric could tell. She had lost her home. And her sister. They weren’t friends at the time (it was just business). He didn’t know her. When Varric had looked at Hawke, all he saw was courage. It was complicated. Hawke, despite her loss, was fearless. She was brave, and therefore a natural leader. Her bravery inspired others. Hell, it inspired Varric. But, she was also distant. She did not grieve openly. And, to the others, it made her seem uncaring. ‘A stone cold bitch’, according to Isabela.

     It took a number of years, but Varric began to understand. Hawke didn’t fear slavers. Or the Arishok. Templars. Or even demons. In battle, she was never afraid. She was a superior duelist. There was no one, and no thing, that Hawke did not believe she could best. In battle, Hawke would either win or lose. And, in Hawke’s mind, she could never lose. It was as simple as that.

     Outside of battle, Hawke was more complicated. It wasn’t life or death. Black or white.

     Isabela had betrayed them. She had taken the Tome of Koslun, and ran off into the night. Varric remembered the look on Hawke’s face. She processed it. It was the realization. Isabela had left, and she wasn’t coming back. Hawke had nothing to placate the Arishok. He was likely to run a rampage. Many Kirkwall citizens would die. But, that wasn’t it. Isabela had left. Hawke would never see Isabela again. Once again, Hawke had been left behind. And, for the first time, Varric saw her afraid. For the first time, Varric saw her pain.

     But, Isabela came back. And Varric saw no point bringing it up. With Hawke, that was the way things worked. Denial was easier than the truth. That concept, at least, Varric understood.

     “Varric!” Junior shouted, and tugged on Varric’s collar. “We gotta move, or we’re gonna lose them. Let’s sodding go already. You know, before my sister gets gobbled up by a sodding dragon.”

     Varric scoured the courtyard. True to Junior’s word, Hawke and the Inquisitor were bounding up ahead. Varric hauled his ass into gear, and followed after them. It took a minute to catch up, but Varric was quickly at Hawke’s heels. The four of them, Junior in the back, charged up the stone steps. Above, and out of Varric’s line of sight, the sky flashed green. A woman, presumably Clarel, was shouting profanities.

     Varric reached the top. Up ahead, Clarel and Erimond (now unconscious on the stone), were situated on a large outcropping. Behind them, on the far end of the outcropping, was Corypheus’ dragon. Varric was just in time to watch the Warden Commander get plucked from the ground. She was torn into the sky, and imprisoned in a row of sharp teeth. The dragon shook its maw, and threw Clarel across the upper courtyard. Her body skipped across the stone like a pebble on water. Yeah, that wasn’t the best metaphor… Varric would admit it. But, right now, face to face with a looming beast, Varric granted himself some (un)creative license.

     Clarel must be dead. No one (not even Hawke) could have survived that. For sure, the Inquisitor would— 

     Clarel (alive, and face down in the rubble) stirred. She was muttering something. Varric strained to hear, but (once again) could not. Varric could tell one thing. Clarel needed help. That much was obvious. Varric took a step forward, and readied Bianca. Instead of moving forward, Varric was blocked by Hawke. She extended her arm, and halted Varric’s progress. Varric noticed, on Hawke’s other side, Carver had also been stopped. 

     “Don’t move.” Hawke advised, and lowered her gaze from the dragon to Clarel. “Not if you want to live.”

     “What?” Varric asked.

      “Let-go-of-me, Edyiss.” Carver stammered, blending his words. He ignored her advice, and pushed past Hawke. “She needs help.”

     “Little Hawke.” Lavellan said, even voiced. “Do as your sister says, and wait.”  

     Junior, who was already a dozen paces ahead, stopped. He turned toward the Inquisitor. Quite plausibly, he was preparing to argue. It was, after all, in Junior’s nature. His words were drowned out. Instead, a bolt of electricity erupted from Clarel. The energy emanated from her body, and wrapped purple tendrils around the side of the bridge. It took a moment, but Varric understood.

     The bridge was going down. And they were going down with it.

     Varric waited (in silent horror), as his prediction came true. In an instant, the energy dissipated. The tendrils were quickly replaced by cracks in the stone. Those cracks spread, pushing outward to the walls of the outcropping. Then, in a stroke of luck, the ground underneath the dragon gave way. The dragon plummeted down, accompanied by a storm of rock and debris. With any luck, it would get crushed underneath. For a moment, it was out of sight.

     Then, the stone began ripping away from the outcropping. In seconds, the entire floor gave way. It ripped toward Carver. He was several paces ahead of Varric, and had his back to the explosion of energy.  Instinctively the Inquisitor reached out, trying to assist the younger Hawke. It was no use. They were all going down. Varric waited, pained, as the stone collapsed under Junior’s feet. In an instant, he followed the dragon and plunged into the abyss.

     “Carver!” Varric whispered. “Carver?”

     Varric’s stomach bottomed out. He was falling. Down. Down. Down. Varric didn’t even remember the stone giving way. Just, in an instant, he was plummeting downward. Debris whizzed past him, cutting up his exposed face and neck. Varric clutched Bianca to his chest. He was not going to let go of her. No, Varric fully intended to die with her. They would remain together, until the very end.     

     This was it. He was going to die. Carver was going to die (if he hadn’t already). Hawke, his Hawke, was going to die. Inquisitor Lavellan was going to die, and so would the rest of Thedas. Without their Herald, they were doomed.

     With that pleasant thought, Varric prepared himself to be swallowed by darkness.

     But, instead, the Maker had a different plan.

     The air around him crackled. With a brilliant (and familiar) spark, Varric was enveloped in a bright green light. The crackling air was heavy; it was nearly impossible to breathe. His ears rang. Everything was in pain. It was excruciating, and unlike anything Varric had ever experienced. It tore through his body, devouring his essence. For a moment, Varric thought that it was going to kill him.

     Then, with a scream of agony, Varric passed through the rift.

\--

     Varric woke with a start.

     He was supine; resting on his back. Which (Varric now realized), was aching. For a moment, Varric wondered if he was back at his quarters in Skyhold. Perhaps Hawke or Carver (damn him) had convinced Varric to relinquish his bed. Had Varric not said it before? He was too old to sleep on the floor. He was a dwarf of comfort and luxury, despite all his “camping trips” with the Inquisitor. That was just business, after all.

     As Varric stared up at the night sky, he knew it to be impossible. For one, Varric’s quarters had a roof. And secondly, the sky was green. Varric had never seen the mountain sky such an eerie shade. With a jolt, Varric recognized The Breach overhead. No, this wasn’t Skyhold. And it wasn’t Haven either (despite the enormous rift in the sky). This was somewhere new. Varric just needed to figure out where.

     Varric pushed himself up. As he did so, his palms scraped against the obsidian floor. No. It wasn’t the floor. It was the ground. Varric was outside (right?). He took in the view, and a sense of dread grew in his gut. Here, it was damp. It was damp, and glistening, and foggy, and entirely surreal. Varric recognized it. Or, at least, he recognized something like it. But, he wasn’t sure.

     Not until he saw the city. It stood in the air, well above the horizon. It was just as dark and ominous as the stone beneath Varric’s boots. It was marvelous, grand, and entirely unreachable. That, Varric knew to be true. He had seen it once before.   

     Years ago, Varric followed Hawke into the fade. As a dwarf, Varric had never been. He didn’t dream. Not like Hawke. Not like Isabela, Aveline, and Merrill. Hawke was after a boy named Feynriel. He was an elven mage, one with incredible power. Varric had almost elected to exclude Feynriel from the Tale of the Champion. The story (and Hawke’s actions) were unnerving. Typically, Hawke was unnerving. But, given her current state, this particular story was personal. In the end, Varric chose to keep it in. It had a lesson. According to Hawke, Feynriel was a danger. There was only one option. Hawke intended to make Feynriel tranquil. And, because Hawke did not let others influence her decisions, she accomplished her goal.

     Varric remembered it well. The fade… had not been what Varric had expected. Varric had expected wonder, and magic, and unfamiliar sights. Instead, it appeared to him as Kirkwall. Figures. The streets, the buildings, and the atmosphere were identical. The only difference was the blur the fade projected. Edges were less crisp. Sound was less finite. It wasn’t right. Nothing felt real. And, of course, the Black City was there. It loomed in the distance, separating the real Kirkwall from this illusive dream world. Being a dwarf, Varric decided, wasn’t a burden. He wasn’t missing much.

     In the fade, there were also demons. Varric remembered them. One, in particular. A demon of desire had tempted him. ‘It’s chafed, has it not? Making your brother the hero of your own tale.’ it asked. At the time, Varric had wanted revenge. His betrayal in the Deep Roads was still fresh. Bartrand had abandoned him. They (Varric and Hawke, especially) had almost died. Varric was inconsolable. He wanted it so bad. He wanted to go back. To switch places with Bartrand, and be the betrayer not the betrayed. Perhaps if he had, things would have been different.

     For one, Hawke may have never met the demon.

     In a futile attempt to betray Bartrand, Varric had betrayed Hawke. He joined the desire demon, and fought her. After he lost, Varric woke. He then waited (alone) as Hawke completed her mission. It was not a memory Varric liked to linger on. Varric had felt such shame. He had apologized afterward, but Hawke ignored it. She did not like apologies, even then. Hawke was angry, but only on the surface. She yelled and spat. Typical Hawke. But, she did not seem particularly hurt or betrayed. Hawke acted as if it was expected. Like Varric had not succumbed to temptation. As if, when it came to demons, submission was inevitable.           

     Now, it was different. Varric was no longer in Kirkwall. The fade had morphed into a rocky plain. Here, everything felt real. Not blurry, or muted. Varric considered it. Was it possible? Had the Inquisitor, somehow, pulled Varric through a rift? Was he physically in the fade? It seemed impossible, given the situation. But Varric had seen the impossible before. This very well might be it.

     “Hawke?” Varric called, at nowhere in particular. “Junior? Hawke? Lavellan? I’m a dwarf, in need of assistance.”

     No response.

     Varric could not have been the only one to fall through. On the outcropping, he and Hawke were stationed behind the Inquisitor. Only Carver was ahead.

     Oh.

     “Junior!” Varric repeated. “Are you here? Can you hear me?”  

     His voice ricocheted off the stone.

     It was futile, Varric supposed. He was alone. There was no one within ear shot. If he wanted to find his friends, Varric was going to have to search. So, Varric scoured the area. Around him, there were no major landmarks. The Breach and The Black City were the only two in sight. Both sat far off in the distance. Well, at least the choice was easy. Varric secured Bianca, and ventured out. If he was going to reach an unreachable city, Varric was going to do it in style.

     Varric walked. He wasn’t sure if time worked. Here, in the fade, it blended together. He just took one step. And another. And another. A minute could have passed. Or a day. Or an hour. Varric wasn’t sure. He was walking. That was all. Just walking. Then, he reached Hawke.

     She was there. In front of him (maybe a yard away). She was on the ground, curled up in a puddle of liquid. Varric would say water, but this was the fade. Nothing was what it seemed. But it was Hawke. Unquestionably Hawke. Which, surprised Varric. He hadn’t seen her before. Not a step before. Why hadn’t he? A question for later, Varric supposed. He didn’t waste any time. He rushed forward.  

    “Hawke!” Varric called.

     Then, his line of sight (and Hawke) was obscured.

     “Varric.” Lavellan said, and (without hesitation) wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re alive.” Her voice broke. “I—I didn’t see where you fell. Didn’t know if you made it through. Thought I might have left you back at Adamant.” She paused. “Varric. Carver. I don’t know if he—”

     Varric didn’t have time for this. His mind was buzzing. He only could focus on Hawke. From his current position, Varric could only see the Inquisitor’s midriff. He craned his neck. But, the Inquisitor swayed into his path. She acted as a physical barrier between Varric and Hawke. Was…Lavellan shielding Hawke from him? Why? What was going on?

     “Wait.” She said. “I know this might be confusing. But, Varric, I think you should take a moment.”

     What?!

     Varric fought the urge to shove her aside. Superiority be damned, he wanted to reach Hawke. He wanted to see her. No, Varric needed to know that she was alright. But, first, he needed to communicate this to Lavellan. She had to get out of the damned way. When it came down to it, Lavellan was a much more capable warrior. There was no way he could overpower her.

     Not that he wanted a fight.

     Varric looked up at the Inquisitor, and finally met her gaze. Her eyes were soft, and her brow was furrowed. It struck Varric as remarkably vulnerable. It was not a look that often accompanied the Inquisitor. Varric began to panic.

     “What’s happening?” Varric muttered. “Let me go.”

     “I—I don’t know what’s going on.” Her voice quivered. “And I don’t— just, please. Prepare yourself. I can’t have you freaking out. Varric, I can’t have you losing it. Not right now. I need you right now.” Lavellan loosened her grip. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

     “Hawke?” Varric shouted, voice hoarse. “Move! Just, move. I need to see her. Hawke?”

     Lavellan let go, and stepped to the side. Varric, in a mad dash, rushed forward.

     She had to be okay. Hawke was always okay.

     Varric saw her. He suppressed a sob. She was okay.

     Hawke was on the floor (ground? right.), curled up in a ball. Her body was shaking, sporadic in pattern. With each twitch, her back scraped against the damp stone. As she lay on the ground, the fade liquid seeped into the cloth of her armor. Hawke’s hair, no longer tied up, fell loose across her face. It obscured her eyes, but not her mouth. Hawke’s jaw was unhinged, upper teeth folding over her lower lips. She let loose a scream, but no noise passed her lips.

     No. No! This was wrong. Varric had never seen Hawke in this much pain. He didn’t think her capable. If Varric didn’t know her, or her story. If he didn’t know any better. He’d guess she was…

     Varric fell to his knees, and inched forward. He noted (absentmindedly) that the liquid was seeping into his armor. Varric didn’t pay it another thought. He reached Hawke, and pulled her upright. She fell back on her knees, and rested her skull against the stone. The impact knocked loose the bangs. They no longer acted as curtains obscuring her eyes. 

      It was all the conformation he needed. Hawke was crying.

     Hawke didn’t cry. She fought. And screamed. And killed.  

     No. This was wrong

     “Hi Varric.” Hawke mouthed. It was a silent puff of air.

     This was a dream. He was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. Hawke didn’t cry.

     But, she was.

     She was. She was. She was. She was.

     Around him, the world collapsed. Because Hawke was crying. Hawke didn’t cry. Not once. But neither did the Tranquil.  

     Varric slumped forward, relinquishing control of his muscles. His head landed on Hawke’s shoulder, and teetered along her collarbone. He needed to stabilize himself. He inched forward, both legs straddling Hawke’s thigh. Varric tucked his face into Hawke’s neck, and inhaled. She was here. This was real. She was his Hawke. His Hawke was crying.

     Underneath him, Hawke continued to shake violently. She was losing control again. Varric, wrapping his arms around her, locked her in place. Her movement remained sporadic, but eventually, her muscles began to calm. Her sobbing ceased. Without a word, Varric and Hawke held on to one another. He wasn’t letting go. Not again. Never again.

     Time passed. Just like before, Varric wasn’t sure how long. It didn’t matter to him. Hawke was the only thing that mattered.

     But, the Inquisitor had other plans.

     “Varric.” She started, tentatively. “And Hawke. I’m sorry. I really am. I can’t imagine—but we need to move.”

     Varric froze, and ceased his breathing. He did not want to leave. He wanted to stay here. He was a wild animal. He could not move. Movement would alert Lavellan to their presence. He had to stay still, especially if he wanted to remain.

     It was illogical, yes. But all Varric had.  

     “This is the fade.” Lavellan said. “I don’t know how. Or why. But, I do know we are not safe. Not out in the open like this. I need to find out what is going on.”

     Luckily for Varric, Hawke was the logical one.

     “My brother.” Hawke said, and sat upright. “I need to find Carver. I—I have a few things I need to say.”

     Varric (getting the hint) rose to his feet. Her signal was clear. Hawke was ready. Even if Varric wanted nothing less. He wanted to remain atop Hawke. He didn’t want to leave her. He was terrified of it, actually. As if leaving would make it less real.  

     Oh, no. Varric looked up. On Lavellan, that vulnerable look was back.

     “Hawke.” She whispered. “I just. I want to believe he made it through. But I’m not sure. Like I said, I didn’t see him fall. I’m sorry—”

     “Don’t.” Hawke interrupted. “You’re wasting your breath. Don’t apologize to me. You’re the Inquisitor. Are you not? You help people. Help me find him.”

     The Inquisitor looked taken aback. Varric was too. It was classic Hawke. She went from calm (or silently seething) to hostile, in a matter of moments. It had been a number of years. Recently, Varric had not witnessed one of her violent outbursts. Right now, it was almost unreal. Varric couldn’t believe he’d actually missed them. But, never the less, he had.

     “Of course, Hawke.” Lavellan smiled. “We may not see eye to eye. But, I too care about him. I would see him returned to your side.” Lavellan paused. “Honestly, despite the situation, I am quite pleased.” She reached out her hand. “Champion. It is nice to meet you.” 

     Hawke, still on the ground, eyed the outstretched hand. In the end, she pushed herself up. It was in typical Hawke fashion (without help). The Inquisitor did not look affronted. Instead, she merely nodded. This, Varric appreciated about Lavellan. She didn’t take anything personally.

    “We’ve met.” Hawke quipped. “A while ago, actually. And, if I remember, I told you I don’t like that title. It’s Hawke. Just Hawke.” She grinned. “Don’t go soft on me, Inquisitor. It’s one of the things I actually liked about you.”

    Maker. This was entirely surreal. Just—Varric didn’t have the words. To hear her talking. Joking even, was a dream come true. Not for the first time, Varric questioned reality. As he did before, Varric came to the same conclusion. This was real. This was Hawke _joking_ with the Inquisitor. Varric never thought he’d see the day. In his mind, Hawke (the real Hawke) and the Inquisitor could not co-exist. But, he was watching it unfold. 

     “A complement? That was a compliment.” Varric smirked, and shook his head bewilderedly. “Are you feeling alright?”

     “I don’t know, Varric.” Hawke said, and lowered her gaze. “How about this? You spend half a decade Tranquil. Then, I’ll chuck you through a hole in the sky. Afterward, I’ll ask you how you feel.” She scowled. “We can compare notes.”

     Ouch. Varric had forgotten about that. Maybe he didn’t miss her outbursts. They could sting. That, or Varric had gone soft. So, no on the outbursts. Really, he just missed Hawke. For a moment, it was like Varric was meeting her for a second time. Re-discovering all the things that he loved (and hated) about her. How had Varric dealt with this in Kirkwall? Deflection or honesty? Varric incorporated both.

     “I was only joking. You know me. I tend to do that.” Varric whispered. At the end, his voice trailed off. “I’m just… really happy to see you.”

     “I know that.” Hawke responded.

     Varric and Hawke locked eyes. Everything went silent.

     Before, Hawke had been overwhelmed. She had years (half a decade) of pent-up emotion. Standing up, this was just Hawke. She had regained her composure. Slipping into her old (blood-stained) shoes. Before, Varric hadn’t questioned cradling her in his arms. It had seemed natural. Necessary. But now, they had stood up. The spell had broken. Now, this was just Varric and Hawke. Same as ever. But tangibly different.

     This Hawke was new. She’d been gone for a half decade. But not really. She had been right there. But, again, not. It was hard to explain. And now she was back. All the way back. Varric had never expected this. He lacked the words. What do you say to your ex-tranquil best friend? That phrase alone was impossible. There were no ex-tranquil. Varric hadn’t planned for this. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d run through this scenario (well, maybe not this EXACT scenario) before. But, at the moment, his imagination failed him. Varric didn’t have anything to say. Thank the Inquisitor, Varric didn’t have to.

     “Once we get Carver,” Lavellan said, and looked meaningfully at Hawke. “We need to find a way out. I—I’ve been here before. I may not remember the details, but I left through The Breech. It might work again. We can try.”

     “Can you try creating a rift?” Varric asked. “Maybe it can work in reverse? Send us back to the other side of the veil?”

     “No.” Lavellan shook her head. “We need The Breach. It’s our best bet of getting home.” She paused. “I’m not sure how I did it. I didn’t mean to. We were falling, and I just kind of needed it. I tried to reduplicate it. But, no rift. Not a portal one, anyhow.”

     “Of course not.” Hawke said. “That would be just too convenient. And I hate convenient.”

     Varric snorted. Really, this was Hawke.

     And, just like that, they set off. They continued Varric’s former path, and headed in the direction of the Breach.

     Hopefully, Carver would not be too further along. Perhaps, the younger Hawke had the same idea as Varric. Varric already had his reunion. He had Hawke, even if he was still processing it. But Junior? Junior needed to see her. Maker. It was a miracle. One that Varric needed to share.

     Sure, Junior was missing. Varric’s pack was partially empty (Bianca excluded). And he was trapped in the fade. Things were dour, no doubt.  Still, he was the happiest he’d been in several years.

     But Varric couldn’t help it. He wondered how long it would last.

     Really, the answer could be forever. They just needed to get out in one piece. If this was one of his books, they would have. After all this, Varric (and the Hawkes) deserved a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... did you see it coming?


	9. Chapter 9

     Varric wasn’t alone.

     Not this time, anyway. He had Hawke (his Hawke) in full working order. And, thankfully, a very optimistic Inquisitor Lavellan. Together, they were a half competent crew. With perseverance, and a bit of luck, the three of them would successfully return home. Hopefully. Maybe. Well, they had to. Otherwise, without the Inquisitor, Thedas was about to go ‘ass side up’. Lavellan was the ‘Herald’, a mere symbol. But, she was also a direct hand. She had an active role. Her mark influenced the rifts. Without her, they would continue to spring up. Thedas, Varric included, needed Lavellan. Their current predicament was testament to that. Even Junior—      

     Shit. Four!

     Varric corrected himself. He’d meant four. The FOUR of them would successfully return home. Varric wasn’t leaving Junior behind. Especially not now. Junior deserved it—to see Edyiss. After all this time, he’d stuck around. No one, not even Varric, deserved it more. It was a reunion Varric was eager to arrange. And, at the moment, he was doing everything in his power to do so. And, if history was any indicator, so was Hawke.

     Upon their departure, Hawke had assumed the lead. In this, Lavellan did not protest. A non-tranquil Hawke threw off the leadership dynamic. Before, authority was presumed. But now? It wasn’t so clear cut. Once again, Varric was thankful for the Inquisitor. Her (presumably temporary) submission was a great relief. There was already too much going on. Varric didn’t need a power struggle.

     They’d been walking for over an hour. Or two. Varric didn’t rightly know. Again, time had become immeasurable. Varric was exhausted. He was out of water, and running low on rations. Varric didn’t want to die of dehydration. He had always pictured a heroic death. Perhaps, something to do with dragons? Varric paused, and considered it.  

     So far, they hadn’t come across anything unsightly. Not a single wraith (let alone a demon). He could take it as a good sign, Varric supposed. But, he was hardly ever that lucky. Varric had Bianca at the ready (just in case).

     The lack of hostiles was— unusual. Varric, despite to his dangerous inclinations, had only been to the fade once before. Back in Kirkwall, that was. The last time, Varric had encountered a variety of fade creatures. Dwarves didn’t dream (obviously). He’d never before been. Hawke, however, had. Not only was she familiar with the terrain, but Hawke was on first-name basis with the ‘permanent residents’. Mainly, the demons.

     BOOM!

     “Incoming.” Hawke called, and reached for her (the Inquisition’s?) staff.

     Right.

     Hawke slipped her arm behind her back, and tugged. Her coordination was fluent. The borrowed staff detached, and Hawke slammed its butt on the hard stone. When it made contact, the staff sparked in anticipation. The air grew thick and metallic. Varric had seen it before. But, it was still startling. Just as much (if not more so) than the first time. In that moment, Varric was glad for Ambassador Josephine. Without her, Hawke would’ve not been outfitted in the appropriate ‘fashion’. He’d have to thank her later. Maybe take her out for a drink. Well, that was, if Varric got out of this altercation alive.

     Varric counted a half dozen, at the most. They were dark, glittering, and red. They did not walk, but instead propelled themselves forward. It was not gliding, but rolling. They advanced, voraciously, and Varric let loose a shot. It fell short.

     “Spiders?” The Inquisitor muttered. “Of everything? Spiders! Unbelievable.”

     Wait. What?

     Varric squinted. They didn’t look like spiders (not to him anyway). In fact, they didn’t look alive at all. More like hunks of rock? If rock was crystalline, red, and glowing—Wait. It wasn’t an ambush of gravel. It was lyrium. Red lyrium. But, how? Lyrium was alive(ish). It certainly spoke (more like sung?), in a way. But, last time Varric checked, lyrium wasn’t exactly a predator. Typically, it didn’t attack. Not without a host.

     “I don’t understand.” Varric said, and re-loaded Bianca.

     Neither Hawke, nor Lavellan, answered him. Varric, in order to distance himself, kicked backward. The lyrium was advancing too quickly. He didn’t have a good shot. Once he was back on his feet, Varric unloaded a round. His powder-lit bolts flew into the air, and landed atop the nearest foe. The ground sparked, and exploded. Varric continued to fire. After the third (or fourth—Varric lost count) round, the lyrium began to crack. He stroked Bianca’s trigger, and hit the stone with a final bolt. This time, the lyrium shattered.

     The Inquisitor had two foes, one on each side. She had un-holstered her daggers, and was now rhythmically thrusting them into the lyrium. Varric watched, astonished, as her blades sunk in. There was no resistance. From afar, it seemed like flesh and blood. Not the hard surface of stone. Curiously, Varric hit the nearest shard with a normal (non-exploding) bolt. Like before, the bolt ‘plinked’ off the surface. Varric was perplexed.

     Varric turned to Hawke. She twirled her staff, and conjured a bolt of energy. It sat in her palm, violet and sparking. Hawke bent down, and brushed her fingertips against the stone. As she did so, the ground pulsed. Her ring of electricity expanded, and approached the three remaining foes. Once it made contact, the lyrium exploded. 

     In response, Hawke threw her head back. She laughed, unabashedly. It was a deep sound, both cruel and melodic. Varric’s spine tingled, and he suppressed a grin. It was a discordant sound— the sound of her laughter. Semi-psychotic, but reassuring.  Varric had missed it. Afterward, Hawke stowed her staff, and turned to Varric.

     Varric smiled at her. A smile, that Hawke did not return. Wait. Varric froze. Hawke wasn’t right. She looked perplexed, and (for a moment) afraid. Her lip quivered, and her eyes bulged.

     She wasn’t laughing. Hawke was wailing.

     Hawke grunted, and balled her fists. The air began to crackle, and pressure began to build in Varric’s ears. A moment later, Hawke electrocuted herself. The energy was undirected. Without a staff, Hawke had no control. It wasn’t the first time, however. Hawke had done this before, but typically as a last-ditch effort. It was quite an alarming vision.

     Hawke stood upright, a fuzzy human-shaped ball of electricity. She clenched her fist to her chest, and quickly thrust it outward. She aimed directly at the lyrium; the explosion sending the shards flying. Hawke repeated the action. Once. Twice. A third time. Each time, Hawke screamed with the effort. No doubt, the electricity was painful. Hawke needed to stop. She was hurting herself. The lyrium was already dead. At this point, Hawke was just creating chaos.

     No, Varric realized. She wasn’t. She was releasing her rage—testing, and reveling in, her strength. It had been half a decade. Varric decided to wait it out. He owed her that. So, she thrashed. And screamed. And cried. Varric had to fight the urge to comfort her. He was out of his depth. For the second time today, Hawke had lost control. It was more alarming than the first time. Before, shock and adrenaline lined his veins. Now, Varric was in a (somewhat) average state of mind.

     The Inquisitor, now without foe, joined Varric’s side. Together, they watched. Three minutes later (maybe?), Hawke fell to her knees. Finally, it was over.     

     “Are we done, Hawke?” Varric asked, voice low.

     Hawke didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her head skyward. Her face was illumined, basking in the light from The Breech.

     “Is the tantrum over?” Varric asked, cautious. “I’m coming over—and I’d rather not be electrocuted.”

     “I’m fine, Varric.” Hawke said.

     “I didn’t say you weren’t.” Varric snorted, and took a step toward Hawke. “But, Maker Edyiss, you’re doing a piss-poor job of convincing me otherwise.”   

     “I said I’m fine.” Hawke sighed. She shifted her weight, but made no attempt to stand. The electricity must have drained her. Hawke seemed exhausted. “I don’t need you doting on me. I’m not Carver.”

     At the mention of her brother’s name, Varric paused.

     “We’re going to find him, Hawke.” Varric promised. “You know that, right? I’m not leaving this Hell-hole. Not without Junior.”

     Hawke did not respond. The Inquisitor, however, frowned. She caught his eye, and pursed her lips. She did not contradict Varric (not vocally), but her intention was clear. Her priorities lie with Thedas, and not the younger Hawke. If given the choice, Carver would be left behind. Varric had to find him. He would not permit that scenario. That choice wouldn’t be made.      

\--

      Varric did not find Carver. But, the Inquisitor _did_ find the Divine.

      Well, not the Divine? It was a spirit (or a demon?). Either way, it looked an awful lot like her. Honestly, Varric wasn’t all that invested. It was weird shit—weird shit that was hard to understand. The Inquisitor had it under control. So, Varric checked out.

      Long story short? This wasn’t Lavellan’s first time in the Fade (obviously). Last time, someone had jacked her memories. A demon, maybe? It was called ‘The Nightmare’. Which, according to Varric, was damn-convenient. He didn’t trust this ‘Divine’. But, Varric didn’t have a choice. Lavellan needed her memories. She had made it this far, but it was not without hardship. Although Lavellan hadn’t broached the subject (not with Varric, anyway), the gap in memory weighed on her. She’d fallen from the sky. Even Varric (who was used to this ‘chosen one’ crap) had been curious.

      So, they followed the Divine’s lead.

      With her instruction, Varric (and co.) stumbled across a marsh. It was ankle deep, and flowed in a gentle circular pattern. Varric brought a hand to cup his water-skin. He squeezed it, but, just as quickly, let it go. There was no use checking. His water-skin was dry. Varric squatted down, and ran his index along the surface. The fade-liquid was cool to the touch; the viscosity familiar. It was a good sign. Varric ran another finger along the bottom of the marsh. The rock beneath was slimy. Otherwise, it was unremarkable.

     “Are you certain?” Lavellan asked.

     “No.” Varric responded, and plunged the water-skin beneath the surface.

     He watched, curious, as air bubbles escaped upward. The bubbles stopped, and Varric retrieved the water-skin. Tentatively, he brought it to his lips. The fade-liquid was cool, and refreshing. Without doubt, it was water. Thank The Maker.     

     “It’s safe.” Varric remarked. “Have a go.”

     The Inquisitor (who’d ripped her Water-skin at Adamant) cupped water into her palms. Hawke followed his lead, and drank deeply. It was silent for a number of minutes. And then, the Inquisitor reached out.

     “I—” She stammered. “Varric? Hawke? Do you hear him?”

     And, yeah. Unfortunately, Varric did.  

 _"Perhaps, I should be afraid.”_ He boomed.

     That voice? It belonged to Corypheus. Varric was certain.  It was unmistakable.

 _"A has-been, a Tranquil, and a traitor. Oh, and how could I forget? The she-elf, so miserably far out of her depth.”_ He paused, and released a sigh. _“Are these the most powerful members of the Inquisition? Ha! Tell me, Lady Inquisitor? Do they even know? Have you told them? Or do they follow you blindly.”_ It laughed. “ _How do you expect to lead them? You, who is nothing. You ,who is afraid. And do not attempt to lie. Not to me. It is I who has your memories.”_

     Ah! So, not Corypheus. The Nightmare. Great.

     The Inquisitor balled her fists, but did not respond. Varric hadn’t expected her to. Unlike Hawke, the Inquisitor had a handle on her emotions. She would not be so easily be taunted.

 _"No?”_ The Nightmare asked. _“Not taking my bait? I see. Perhaps you’re right. Are you not her? Are you not the child The Inquisition believes you to be?”_

     This particular taunt caught Varric off guard. The Inquisitor was young. Of course. She wasn’t grizzled like Varric. Nor haggard and worn, like Hawke. She was fresh-faced, and spry. Not a child—but not a woman of experience. Varric had never inquired about her age. Huh. He had never really dwelled upon it. It had never seemed relevant. Lavellan was a commanding presence. She did not waver. Or idle. She was a woman to whom he would trust his life. And Varric had. On numerous occasions.

     The voice was gone, Varric realized with a jolt. He shot upright, and thrust out his arms. It was on reflex—As if he had been falling. But, Varric wasn’t falling. He was kneeling, frozen, staring straight at his reflection. His heart jolted. In the reflection, he saw the Inquisitor. And Hawke. And himself.

     And—a fourth reflection. It loomed over him, and reached out. Varric readied himself. If needed, Bianca was at his side.

     “Varric?” It asked. “Maker, ‘z that you? Did you hear that? The voice! It was inside my head!”

     Varric dropped Bianca. She landed at his side, a soft thud on the edge of the marsh. He knew that voice. Sure enough, it was Junior. The younger Hawke grinned at him. Up close, Junior was bad off. His face was caked in blood and sweat. His chainmail, broken, and twisted awkwardly. It ensnared his left shoulder. He looked badly injured. And tired. But even still, he mostly looked relieved.

     “Carver Hawke.” Lavellan said. “I am glad to know you live.”

     Varric raised a brow. He couldn’t help it. She sounded genuine. Even so, Lavellan _had_ been prepared to leave Carver behind. Not even an hour (well—maybe an hour?) had passed. Lavellan noticed Varric’s skepticism, and hung her head.

     “Back at ch’ya.” Carver grinned, unaware of their exchange. “What in the hell? What was that thing!? Edyiss, did you hear it too? ”

     Hawke didn’t respond. This was it. She got to her feet, and faced her brother.

     Varric had been there. The last time—at their last reunion. Hawke was freshly Tranquil. Back then, there hadn’t been anticipation. No nerves. Or intermittent panic. Only dread. Junior had bypassed grief. Upon their reunion, he succumbed to rage. Apparently, it was the Hawke way. Back then, everyone was at fault. Everyone, of course, but Edyiss.   

     This time, it would be different.  

     Carver smiled at Hawke, waiting. She did not speak.  And so, just as quickly, Junior turned away.

     “And you, Varric?” Junior asked. “Tell me you heard that?!”

     He didn’t know?

     Carver didn’t—

     How could he? Varric examined Hawke. She didn’t look any different. Hawke hadn’t looked different—not in over half a decade. Except for the Sunburst. And, even in the Fade, it still adored her forehead.

     “What’re you—” Carver squinted at Varric, and re-surveyed the area. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

     Junior sucked in a breath. His gaze settled on his sister. He rushed over to Edyiss, and gripped her arm.

     “Edyiss—the blood.” Carver grunted, and turned, accusatorily, toward Varric. “She’s covered in blood! What happened?”

     Wait. What?

     Varric squinted at Hawke. She was (indeed) covered in blood.

     “Hello, brother.” Hawke muttered. She reached forward, and ran her thumb along the curve of his jaw. “Don’t worry. I took care of it.”

     “I—Sorry. What?” Carver asked, and pulled away. “ _You_ took care of it? I’m missing something, yeah? What’s happened?” He raised his brow. “Edyiss? Is something wrong?”

     “Yes, actually.” Hawke scowled. “It’s the beard. I hate it.”

     Junior froze.

     “You what?” He whispered, barely audible. “What d’you just—”

     “You look like a _prat_.” She said, accentuating the last word. “Well, more of a prat than usual. And that’s saying something.” She paused, and Carver gaped. “Do me a favor, brother-mine? Shave it off already.”

     Carver choked. Well, kind of. He wasn’t holding his breath. But, as he inhaled, he spluttered. It was messy. Panicked. And raw.

     Carver did not cry. He did not smile. Or rush for Hawke’s embrace.

     He stood his distance. Arms length. And glared.

     “How dare you.” He whispered. His upper lip twitched.

     Well, Shit.

     “I can’t believe you.” Carver muttered, words obstructed by his clenched jaw. “You—you are unbelievable, Edyiss? Ya’ know that?”

     “I don’t read minds, Carver.” Hawke said, and waved her hand. She looked bored. “What _are_ you prattling on about?”

     Junior leaned forward, craning his neck downward. He was eyelevel with Hawke.

     “You’ve always been selfish. And reckless. And proud. But I never thought you stupid.” He laughed cruelly, and pulled at his bangs. “How could you do it, Edyiss?” His voice rose in pitch. “Not just to yourself. But to your friends?” He paused, and grit his teeth. “How _dare_ you do that to me.”

     It was not a question.

     This, Varric noted, wasn’t so much unlike their last reunion, after all.

     At Junior’s final accusation, Hawke dropped her ‘bored’ façade. She mirrored Carver’s posture: shoulders hunched, and in attack form. Hawke leaned in, chin pointed stubbornly upward. She did not take to criticism.

     Hawke had pressure points: power, strength, Pride, and family. Varric (and Carver) knew that all too well. He was goading her. Varric knew that much. But why?

     “Well, no surprise there.” Hawke teased, and tilted her head. “Here’s a tip, little brother. Not everything is about you.”

     “Oh! Of that, I’m painfully aware. But this time, it was! You ruined your life, Sister.” Carver shouted. “But, you also ruined mine.”

     “Is that so?” Hawke asked, jaw unhinged.

     “I left the Wardens.” Carver spat. “And Kirkwall. Our friends. I’m glad it’s been fine for you, Edyiss. Because—” His voice broke. “It’s been awful for me.”

     Oh.

     Varric realized it, then. Before, Junior hadn’t been goading her. No. This rage? It was genuine.

     “You didn’t have to stay.” Hawke said, rolling her neck. Her voice was lower. She was more vulnerable. It did not suit her. “I never asked you to.”

     “Of course I did.” Carver laughed, low and cruel. “Nobody else, and I mean _nobody_ , was willing to put their life on hold. Not to take care of you. Not to suffer through your mistakes.”

     Hawke began to laugh. It was dissimilar to Carver’s. It was white-hot, and loud.

     “Tell me, Carver, was it nice?” She asked. “To finally be the hero? I’ve been dragging your ass since diapers. Since Bethany couldn’t. So, I ask again. Was it nice? To finally take care of _me_ , for a change. ”

     "No. You tell _me_ , Edyiss.” Carver roared. “Who else woulda? One of Your ‘friends’? How’s Isbela? Or Merrill?” he paused, dramatically. “Dare I say—Fenris?  It’s been years, and did _ONE_ of them ever write? Ever visit?” He shook his head. “The only reason Aveline even bothered? ‘Cause I asked her to.”

     Huh.

     That, Varric hadn’t known. He was struck with a sudden sense of guilt. What else had Junior been harboring alone?

     Hawke’s eyes drifted to Varric. It was subtle. Gentle. In a moment, Junior caught on. He watched the action, and followed Hawke’s gaze. For a moment, both pairs of Hawke eyes bore into him. Just as quickly as they had arrived, they left.  

     “He doesn’t count.” Carver deadpanned. “You know why.” He lowered his voice, but Varric could still hear each word. “He didn’t exactly stay behind. Did he? Look at him.” Both pairs of eyes returned. “He’s with the Inquisitor. He’s playing sidekick to a new hero. He hasn’t the time to babysit you.”

     WHAM!

     Hawke’s fist collided with Carver’s jaw.

     The younger Hawke recoiled backward. The blow had been a surprise. Carver froze, at arms length, cupping his throbbing jaw. Hawke was absolutely seething. She massaged her clenched fist, and dropped it to her side. She took a predatory step toward Carver.

     It was a mistake. Even Varric could see that.

     Junior pounced. Larger and much more muscular, he took her down easily. The two sunk to the stone, Junior pinning Edyiss to rock. She squirmed, and kneed Carver in the gut. The younger Hawke grunted, but did not release his hold.

     “Hey!” the Inquisitor shouted, finally intervening. “Stop that! Both of you! We don’t have time for this. That is enough!”

     Neither Hawke heeded her request. They continued to wrestle, grunting and spitting as they writhed upon the ground. Neither Hawke were punching. They had arms wrapped around each other, locking each other in. Pinning each other down.

     Then, it ceased.

     Carver landed a pump to Edyiss’ gut. She huffed, and went limp. He mirrored her action, and stopped his squirming. The siblings lay together, unmoving. Both of their chests heave as they lay on the ground. They held one another, refusing to release their grasp.

     Varric wasn’t a fool. He recognized it for what it was: an embrace. Varric smiled to himself. It was typical Hawke: violent, emotionally stunted, and all-encompassing.

     “I’ve missed this, sister.” Carver muttered.

     “I know.” Edyiss said.  

\--      

     The Nightmare? He was a real prick. And Varric wasn’t a fan.

_"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you. You brought her here. I wonder—do you truly care for her at all? For HER best interest? Or, do you only care for your own?”_

_“You are nothing. The lesser twin. The lesser Hawke. Bethany, sweet and talented, deserved to live. But, instead, you took her place. You shouldn’t be alive. If you were a better man, you wouldn’t be.”_

_“I know how much you fear it. The time will come. They will not listen. Carver. And, Varric. They will never let you. You know this.”_

     For his part, Varric ignored the jest.

     “Keep talking, Smiley.” He laughed.

     Hopefully, Varric wouldn’t have to endure The Nightmare for much longer. With help from “the Divine”, the Inquisitor was closing in. They had almost arrived at the Nightmare’s lair. Now, with Carver at their side, the prospect of escape was much more tempting. Varric had seen enough of the fade. He would be glad to be rid of it.

     Hawke, still in the lead, had directed Varric (and Co.) past a small stoneyard. Varric did not linger, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d noticed the tombstones. They all had. And (despite Lavellan’s protest to do otherwise), Varric read them out loud. Varric’s own name, along with those of the majority of the Inner Circle, were present. Both Hawke and Carver, however, were not. Varric took that to be a good sign. Perhaps, the fade had forgotten the Hawke siblings?

     Varric had wanted to stop. The epigraphs were too small. Varric couldn’t read them, not from a distance. But, Junior had protested.

     “I’m all for a break, Varric.” Carver huffed. “But, far away from here. Shit is creepy. It ain’t right.”  

     Well, no disagreement there.

     In the end, they chose to rest atop an obsidian hill. It overlooked the stoneyard, and the “fade-ocean” below. After catching her breath, Hawke pulled the Inquisitor to the side. The two women did not leave Varric’s line of sight, but their voices were too low. Despite his roguish-nature, he was unable to eavesdrop on their conversation. Lip reading, too, was out of the question. Damned Hawke. Apparently, she already knew all of Varric’s tricks.

     Varric and Carver exchanged a confused glance. After a moment, Carver just shrugged. Unlike Varric, the younger Hawke was un-alarmed. Varric continued to watch. Hawke did the majority of the talking, the Inquisitor only nodding in response. Their conversation was brief, however. It was cut short.

     “So, it is true.”

     It was Hawke’s voice. But, Hawke wasn’t speaking. Instead, the distorted phrase came from her left. There, beside Hawke, stood a second Hawke.

     What?

     It was Hawke, but not. It was lithe, not active, and malnourished. Its skin: smooth and translucent (in a way no human was). It had a faint aura. It glowed green; reflecting the light of The Breech. It was not beautiful, in the same way Hawke was not beautiful. It was powerful. And terrifying. In that regard, it was very much like Edyiss Hawke.  

     But, it wasn’t her. There was no doubt. Not to Varric. Varric knew demons. And that? That was a demon. Varric (Carver at his heels) rushed toward human-Edyiss’. But, they were intercepted by the demon. It raised its palm in a ‘wait’ gesture. The demon turned on Varric, and faced Hawke.

     “Hello, old friend.” The demon purred. “I heard a rumor. Quite peculiar, I know. I do not often hear rumors.” It laughed: low, melodic, and sweet. “I so rarely get visitors. But, my visitor was adamant, see? It has spotted an impossible sight. I decided to follow up.” The demon smiled, and reached out. “I was surprised. As I bet you can imagine. It’s been half a decade. All my searching; and I’ve not a thing to show for it. But, I’ve finally found you. Here. In my very home.” It smiled. “When I was not looking.”

     Hawke did not speak. Or act. She was immovable. The demon cupped Hawke’s shoulder, and breathed in. On its exhale, it sighed.

     “I’ve missed you, Edyiss.” It whined. “It was painful. Separating. For both of us, I imagine. I know you. You did not wish to part. Neither did I. But, we did.” It craned its neck. “I was so alone. I had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. I was lost—when you cast me out.”

     Again. What?

     Had she? Cast it out? The rite severed Hawke from the fade. It ended any magic, and bonds. That included her demon, right? Or so, Varric had always assumed. Had Eydiss ended it beforehand? Had she ended it before the rite? When Hawke was made Tranquil, had she been demon-free? Demon-free, and all alone.   

     “You’re Tranquil.” The demon said, and gestured to Hawke. “It is not a surprise. I could not find you. And I knew, if you could, you would have come for me.” It relaxed its hold, and circled Hawke. “But, that did not prevent me from looking. A waste, it would seem.” It hummed, thoughtful. “You should have taken my offer, Edyiss. You needed me. Together, we could have made it out. Together, we could have survived.”

     “She did.” Carver spat. “She did survive. No thanks to you.”

     The demon laughed.

     “Is that what you think, little Hawke?” The demon said, lurking toward Carver. He recoiled, but just barely. “That she is alive? And not an empty husk?” It grinned. “But, what would Edyiss think? I’d be willing to guess. We did share a mind, after all. And a body. We were one. Well, almost.” It sighed, and continued to circle, this time surrounding Carver. “She would have rather died. Would STILL rather die. If you truly loved her—the way she thought you did—you would have killed her. Long ago. It would have been a kindness.”

     “Shut it!” Carver roared, and unsheathed his sword. “You don’t get to speak to me. Or her. Leave, before I change my mind! Now!”

     “I only speak the truth.” The demon said, and frowned.  “Tell him, Edyiss. Tell him I’m wrong.”

     Hawke did not.

     “There will be no violence. Not here.” The demon snarled. It turned to Hawke. “I have found you, Edyiss. Again. And I do not intend to lose you.” It smiled, lips twitching. “You are strong. As am I. But, together, we are unstoppable. We will be one. And, together, we will end them. The Templars. Their families. All of Kirkwall. They will pay for your suffering.” It grunted. “There is a way. A way to go back. A way to live again. I have not heard many rumors. This is true. But, there is one I know of. It is not impossible. The Rite is reversible. You only need say yes—”

     “No.” Carver interrupted. “You will not have her. Not again. Not this time.”

     Junior screamed, and plunged his sword into the demon.

     The demon hissed, and erupted in a screen of grey smoke. When it returned, demon-Edyiss’ visage was no more. It was a demon of Pride: colossal, armored, and purple. But, something was off. Demon-Edyiss had been unnaturally slender, and so was the demon-form. Its interlocking horns were ashy, and frayed at the ends. The armor plating was dehydrated, scaly and brittle. For all its talk, this demon was useless. It was not powerful. Or strong. Or clever.

     It was dying.

     Varric did not pause to think. Bianca was in his grasp, and he let loose a bolt. The demon swiped at Carver, but the younger Hawke rolled out of its path. As if just noticing the outbreak, Lavellan leapt into action. She slid between the demons massive (but atrophied) legs, and buried her dagger deep into the demon’s spine. With Varric, Junior, and the Inquisitor, they had the demon surrounded. It began to panic, brandishing its whip.  

     “Edyiss.” The demon shrieked. It’s voice was low now—no longer masking its true self. “Command them. If you do not, I will end them. Hear me—tell them to fall back.”

     Again. Hawke did not.

     And so, Hawke watched. She watched, impassive— as her brother, Varric, and the Inquisitor, made short work of a very malnourished demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a short break. I didn’t expect to. But, I’m back (with the longest chapter yet!).


	10. Chapter 10

     Varric was trapped. And (if he didn’t move), he was about to be devoured.

     The aspect of the nightmare was dead. Inquisitor Lavellan (and Hawke) had seen to it. Thankfully, Varric and Carver no longer had to fend off an army of personalized horrors. The faux red lyrium had been enough. Varric didn’t much fancy the army of bugs, wraiths, and lepers that guarded the nightmare’s miniature bodyguard. But, now that the fighting was over, they had garnered the attention of a new threat. This time, there was no option to fight. Only to run.

     They were so close. The rift hung over their heads. It was within reach. Or, in Varric’s case, just out of reach. They just needed to—

     “We need to go.” Varric urged, and Carver nodded. “We need to go, _now_.”         

     Hawke, however, was unperturbed. She stowed her staff, and kicked at the remains of a nearby corpse. Then, abruptly, Hawke turned to Lavellan. She did not speak. Oddly enough, neither did the Inquisitor. They locked eyes. And, after a moment, the Inquisitor grunted.

     Right. Well, it shouldn’t be a surprise. Not really.

     In Kirkwall, when it came time to best the Arishok, Hawke was hung up on Isabela. At the time, it seemed like she was angrier with the Rivaini than the Arishok. At the very least, it fueled her in battle. Unfortunately, that battle was one among many. Hawke always did have awful timing. And right now, facing imminent death, Hawke was stalling. After all this time, she really hadn’t changed.

     “I don’t think you are hearing me.” Varric whined. “There’s a Skyhold-sized spider headed this way, and unless we are planning to engage—WE NEED TO GO.”

     Lavellan, disregarding Varric, ran her knuckles across her blood-spattered forehead. She removed her hand, and left behind a trail of blood. It ran in a horizontal line, from temple to temple. Which… well, shit. That was just perfect. Despite the dire situation (and his increasing state of panic), Varric suppressed a grin. It reminded him of Hawke, in her earlier days.

     It was her first year in Kirkwall. Carver’s too, Varric supposed. And, despite their heavy set brows, and prominent Kirkwallian features, the Hawke siblings stood out in a crowd. Particularly, the Kirkwall crowd. They were outsiders, obvious refugees—especially Carver. Unlike Hawke, Junior’s drawl was distinctly Ferelden. Fortunately, Hawke’s speech was not muddled by Junior’s (as Bartrand had put it) ‘farm-hand syllables’. Upon their first encounter, Varric’s brother had almost turned Hawke away. He didn’t want ‘dead weight’ on their expedition to begin with. It didn’t help that those ‘extra bodies’ belonged to two Ferelden refugees. Varric held no such prejudices. Hawke, even in her youth, was an intimidating figure. Ferelden, or not, she would be an asset.     

     They were not close. Not before the expedition, anyhow. Back then, Varric had no say in Hawke’s— well—anything. He aided her in their quest for coin. He didn’t really challenge her, Varric didn’t need to. It was just work. Varric had too much going on (read:Bianca Davri) to worry about his business partner’s personal affairs. That included matters of wardrobe. If she wished to parade around Kirkwall, in an act of (what Varric could only assume to be) Ferelden lunacy, sporting a blood-streaked face, Varric couldn’t really comment. It was strange, certainly. But, Varric didn’t mind. It scared the shit out of their enemies. And made for easy intimidation. Really, Varric found it charming.

     The blood swatch lasted a little over three months. By the time they descended into the deep roads, Hawke had long outgrown her little battle accessory. She did revive it for a period of time, after defeating the Arishok. Hawke had garnered much public attention. She had outgrown her roots, and, presumably, wished to return to a state of familiarity. Not that Varric would mention it. Psychoanalyzing Hawke wasn’t a good idea. Not if he wanted to remain unscathed. Besides, Varric left that level of analysis for the book. His readers (okay, Cassandra) ate that shit up.

     “Lavellan.” Hawke said, ending the standoff, and pulling Varric back to the present. “It’s time—”

     For a moment, Lavellan seemed concerned. Her eyebrows scrunched, but only for a moment.  Just as quickly as it arrived, her concern was gone. As she spoke, Lavellan was composed as ever. Her voice was authoritative, almost bored. Really, it was impressive. And Varric thought he was a good liar.   

     “No.” Lavellan said. “It’s not. Not yet.”

     “Yes, it is.” Hawke pushed, visibly irritated by Lavellan’s calm demeanor. “There _is_ no more time. Decide, and decide now. I will do what I must, Inquisitor. You know this. But, before I do. Tell me. Will you help me? ”

     Hawke? Asking for help? That was a new one.

     Carver (apparently) shared in Varric’s line of thought. He huffed in judgmental surprise.

     “I said wait.” The Inquisitor said, bored demeanor thinning. “I need a moment— I need to think. You owe me that. In this, I will be certain. I cannot support you halfheartedly. This, Hawke? This decision will have consequences.” She lowered her voice. “Surely, you see that?”

     It was Hawke’s turn to huff.

     “Of course I do. Do not patronize me.” Hawke hissed. “But, you don’t have a moment. You’ve had time. Plenty of it.” She looked at Varric (uh-oh). “He’s right.”Oh, that’s good, Varric supposed. “You need to go. Now. You can’t stay here.”

     “We,” Varric corrected, automatically. “We can’t stay here.”

     “If I had meant ‘we’, Varric, I would have said so.” Hawke said, baring her teeth. Varric jolted backward. Even for Hawke, it was an overreaction. This, apparently, dawned on her. Edyiss, quickly, reined in her aggression. “I’m not going Varric.”

     Varric’s stomach bottomed out. It took a moment, but Varric got there. He struggled (and half succeeded) in forming a coherent sentence.

     “What? Hawke are you—” Varric asked, bewildered.

     “I can’t go back. I— Varric.” Hawke said. Her voice was still barbed, but slightly less volatile.  

     Hawke was still speaking, but Varric had stopped listening. Hawke didn’t mean it. Not after all this time. Not now. Not after they had all found one another. Varric tried to reason with himself. She wouldn’t do that to them. She wouldn’t do that to _Varric_. But, she would. And, in the past, she had. This was Hawke. And Edyiss Hawke didn’t think about anyone. Not Junior. And certainly not Varric.

     Varric was angry. The feeling caught him off guard. It wasn’t unnatural. In Kirkwall, he was often angry with Hawke. But, this level of anger, Varric had not felt in a number of years.  Hawke’s tranquil years had left him soft.  There was no point in arguing with Hawke. It would be a futile effort. So, he hadn’t. But, Hawke was here now. She was here, and Varric was angry in the way that he had not allowed himself to be in half a decade.

     Varric opened his mouth. But, this time, Junior beat him to it.

     “I’m not hearing this.” Carver whispered. His voice was low, and white-hot. “Tell me, Edyiss. Tell me I am not hearing this!” Carver paused. “When? When did you decide this? How long?”

     Hawke paused. too Junior tone had stroked her impulse to fight. And, unlike Lavellan, she was unable to squash it. After a moment, Hawke spoke more calmly.

     “Always.” Hawke supplied. “There was no deception. Not from me.”

     Then Hawke surprised him. She smiled. It was soft and gentle, not a frequent Hawke smile. This was special, reserved for the most intimate of moments.

     “You never were perceptive, brother.” Hawke shook her head. “Then again, neither am I.”

     “No!” Carver roared, disturbed by Hawke shift in attitude. “Absolutely not. You don’t get to do this. Not this time.” He pushed past Varric, and yanked at Hawke’s collar. He pulled her in close. “I’ve let you make decisions for me. All of my life, Sister. And I listened. I left Bethany for the War effort. I joined the Wardens. I even let that sack of shit Knight-Captain _live_ , because you said so.” He chuckled, low and aggressive. “But all this time? The time you’ve spent stagnant? I’ve grown up. I don’t have to listen to you.” He grit his teeth. “This time, Edyiss you will listen to me.”         

     “Don’t be thick, Carver.” Hawke whispered, and her voice waivered. “You didn’t really think we’d make it out—did you? That I’d make it out? I’m Tranquil, brother. There’s nothing out there for me. Out there, I am a shell.”

     “Don’t—” Carver warned. “Don’t talk like that. You don’t know that. There’s still a chance.” His eyes lit up. “We killed the demon. It’s dead. You might—” 

     “Listen to yourself.” Hawke said. “You claim to have grown. But here you are, grasping at straws, like a child.”

     “It could work.” Carver bit his lip. “It might work.”

     “That’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’d rather die.” Her eyes bore into Carver. “All those years ago, I should have died. I know that. I’ve been walking around, an empty husk. And I won’t go back. I won’t be empty again.”

     Varric hadn’t noticed it before. The shift was subtle. Hawke was crying now. Just barely, but she couldn’t hide it. Hawke didn’t try to.

     But, as remarkable as that was, it was a red-herring. Where Varric ended up looking (where Varric ought to have looked in the beginning) was Carver. As Edyiss cried, Carver straightened. He did not look at his sister. He did not comfort her. Instead, he rested on the distance. He rested on the Nightmare. 

     It was almost upon them. They’d wasted too much time. At this rate, they wouldn’t make it. By the look of it, Carver knew this. They’d have to intercept it.

     “I’m sorry, Edyiss.” Carver said. He had long since let go of her collar, and was now running a comforting hand through her hair. “But I can’t let you.”

     And, just like that, Carver dropped his hold on Edyiss. He smiled, and repeated Hawke’s words back at her.

     “I’d rather die.”

     He pushed past Hawke. In one swoop, he had drawn his sword. It was clutched firmly in his grasp. After the initial shock had subsided, Hawke lunged forward. She grasped for Junior, but he was out of reach.

     “No.” Hawke screamed, voice panicked and shrill.

     She drew her staff, ready to fight. But, in a moment, the Inquisitor was on her. She swiftly disarmed Hawke, and knocked her to the ground. Lavellan writhed with effort, struggling to pin down Hawke.

     Varric didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t move.   

     “We talked about this!” Hawke screeched, and clawed at the Inquisitor. “You promised me.”

     “I’m sorry, Hawke.” Lavellan said. “I listened. I did. But I made no such promise.”

     Hawke let out another shout. Her fingers twitched. In an instant, the air was metallic. Varric knew that taste. Hawke was about to discharge. If anything, that was what drove him to action. This was Hawke. And she was hurting. But, he wouldn’t allow her to hurt the Inquisitor. Lavellan was his friend, and although she wasn’t Hawke, Varric cared for her a great deal. 

     He caught Hawke’s eye. Her gaze was piercing—panicked and hurt. Adrenaline pumped through his system. He rushed forward, and took hold of Hawke. Together, Lavellan and him yanked a struggling Edyiss to her feet.

     “Move, Varric.” Hawke instructed, and sparked dangerously. “I don’t need to hurt you. But I will.”

     Varric ignored her. She might be serious. Varric didn’t know. But he had made up his mind. Junior was too far gone. There was no calling him back. The decision had already been made. All Varric could do now is save Hawke. So, he would.

     “Do it, then.” Varric said, grasping Hawke’s bicep, and pulling her towards The Breech. They were so close. Only a few feet away. It sparked knowingly, responding readily to the Inquisitor’s presence. “But I’m not stopping.”  

     Hawke hesitated. She weighed her options, and in doing so, momentarily ceased her thrashing. In the respite, the Inquisitor and Varric gained several feet.

     “You leave him, and I’ll never forgive you.” She said.

     “I’m sorry.” Varric said.

     And, he meant it.

     The way she looked at him. Seething. Hawke looked a Varric with a combination of disbelief and hate. She’d never look at him that way. He’d never seen her look at _anyone_ that way: vicious, and completely sick of him.

     “I’ll hate you.” Hawke said. “Just know that. I will always hate you.”

     “I can’t.” Varric said, voice breaking. He loosened his hold. There were directly under the rift. “I can’t. We—Junior and I—love you too much. I don’t know if this will cure you. It might. Please, Edyiss. We have to try. Junior wanted you to try.”

     “I hate you.”

     And, as they crossed through the rift, Varric considered it. If this didn’t work, if he and Carver had been wrong, hating Varric would be the last thing Hawke ever felt. 

\--

     The sun was out. Which (Varric supposed) was not very dramatic. If it was up to Varric, it would have been pouring. Or, at least, that’s how he’d have written it. After all, what’s the point of a sunny funeral?

     There was no body. Not this time. The men and women (agents of the Inquisition and Wardens alike) that had fallen in battle were freshly buried outside Adamant Fortress. There had been a service for the countless lives that had been lost. Now, back at Skyhold, it was a much quieter affair.

     The majority of the Inner Circle, barring Sera and (surprisingly) Blackwall, were in attendance. Even Cullen, after a few words with the Inquisitor, had decided to go. Varric understood his reluctance. To the very end, Carver Hawke had despised him. Though, the Inquisitor was right. It would be worse if the ex-Templar had not gone. 

     The funeral was held in Skyhold’s garden, presided over by Mother Giselle. It was quick, and entirely uneventful. Mother Giselle read from the Canticle of Benedictions, and lit a single candle.

_"Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.”_

     Now, and hour later, the candle was leaking wax. The service was coming to a close, and the Inner Circle began to disperse.

     “Varric?” Cullen asked. By the tone of his voice, Varric wagered that this was not Cullen’s first attempt at garnering Varric’s attention. “If this isn’t the right time—”

     Varric could tell: the Commander was eager to run. Whatever he had to say, it wasn’t within Cullen’s comfort. 

     “Nonsense, Curly.” Varric smiled, pushing through the numbness. “What can I do for you?”

     “I just—” Cullen averted his gaze. “I’m sorry about Hawke, Varric.”

     Oh.

     “No. You don’t have to be.” Varric said. “Really, Cullen. He chose it. ‘snot your fault.” 

     “I know.” Cullen said, still sheepish. “I am not referring to him. Though, I am…regretful of the terms we ended on. I did not expect to gain his favor, but I did wish to—I guess it doesn’t matter now.” He paused. “Varric. I’m sorry that she—”

     No. Not now. Not after Junior’s funeral. Varric couldn’t.

     “Like I said. ‘snot your fault.” Varric interrupted.

     “I am not naive enough to shoulder all the blame.” Cullen said, ignoring Varric’s attempt as subversion. “Nor am I arrogant enough to reject it.” He paused. “It may not be worth much, but, I am sorry. I have many regrets, Varric. I have many sins to which I need to atone. And, by the Maker’s guidance, I intend to.”

     Varric did not respond. For (what was likely) the first time, Varric Tethras didn’t have anything to say. Luckily, Cullen had not needed a response. After he was finished speaking, the Commander turned, and left to join the remaining Advisers.  

     Now, the only two left were Varric… and Hawke.

     Varric didn’t look at her. He hadn’t, not since Adamant.

     He had fallen back through the rift. When he landed at Adamant, Varric only had one thought on his mind: Hawke. Hawke. Hawke. And he’d found her. Almost immediately. She was several feet away, weight resting on her knees. Her eyes were red, but she was no longer crying. And, then she spoke. For the remainder of his life, Varric would not forget her words.

     “It didn’t work.”

     At that, Varric had lost it.

     “No. No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Varric prayed, burying his face in her white hair. He was crying. “Please Hawke. Please.” His chest heaved, growing increasingly numb with each repetition. “Forgive me—”   

     After a time, Hawke had pulled away. She surveyed him, eyes as blank. Her gaze was as numb as Varric felt.

     “Do not apologize, Varric.” Hawke said. “You need not be upset. After all, I am not.”

     Varric was in no state to speak, but he did. His next words tumbled tactlessly out of his mouth. He couldn’t help it. He had needed to know. Had it—had this loss, Carver’s sacrifice, been worth anything?

     “Do you remember?” Varric pleaded. “Hawke, do you remember what it felt like?”

     After an agonizing moment, Hawke spoke.

     “It was awful.” Hawke said, nonchalantly. For every breath Varric held on to, Hawke was the opposite. She spoke freely, without care. It  was so unlike Hawke. Unguarded, and honest. “I had experienced  years, but never lived them. To look my brother in the eye, and feel nothing. Because, I shouldn’t know. Nobody should know how that feels.”

     That was enough. Her musing sounded quite familiar. With a start, Varric realized that Hawke was beginning to sound like Cole. He regretted his question. Varric didn’t want to hear the answer. Not anymore.

     “Hawke, stop.”

     “Tranquil die tranquil.” Hawke continued, despite Varric. “They don’t have to live again. They don’t have to suffer.”

     “Please.”

     “I wanted to die.” Hawke said. “I wanted you to let me die.”

     After that, Varric couldn’t meet her eye.

\--

     It was late evening now. Varric was nestled into his quarters. The funeral was over—and there was letters he had to write. He should be the one to tell Aveline. She had always had a soft spot for Junior, despite her (loving) antagonism towards the elder Hawke. After Hawke had become Tranquil, Aveline remained a constant facet in both of their lives. In the fade, Junior had not been wrong. Other than Varric, Aveline was the only one that remained. She would not take the news well.

     Varric finished the letter, and flourished his signature across the bottom. Automatically, he grabbed another piece of parchment. He dipped his quill, and hesitated. Varric wasn’t sure what name to put at the top. Who else was there? Other than Hawke, Aveline, and himself? _Was_ there anyone else?

     Varric was struck with a realization. In all the years following Hawke’s tranquility, he’d never written a letter to Junior. He’d addressed him in almost every letter, but that was because Junior vetted Hawke’s letters. He had never asked about Junior. How he was feeling. What he was doing. For a decade, and probably long before, Varric had only been concerned with Hawke.

     Varric wished he knew her name. The farm girl Carver had spoke of on the way to Crestwood. The one that had often stopped by, not to see Edyiss, but to see Carver. How well did she know him? Would she even want to know? It was pointless, Varric supposed. But he couldn’t help wonder, how many lives had Carver Hawke touched?

     KNOCK.

     Varric froze at his desk, and promptly put down his quill. He shoved Aveline’s letter into a drawer, and turned to face his door.

     Well, Shit. It must be Hawke.

     Hawke had kept to herself since Adamant. That was to say, Varric had been avoiding her, and Hawke had not bothered to seek him out. Carver’s funeral was the first time Varric had seen her since, and after his conversation with Cullen, Varric had secluded himself in his quarters.   

     “Not now.” Varric said, hoping to deter her.

     He knew that Hawke would show up eventually. She didn’t have Junior, not anymore. And, as Varric suspected earlier, he was pretty certain the Tranquil could get lonely. But, right now, Varric still wasn’t equipped. Perhaps, in the morning.

     Unfortunately, Hawke did not listen. The door swung open, and Varric huffed in protest. But, to Varric’s relief, it was not Hawke who stood in the door way. It was Lavellan.

     Which (on second thought) wasn’t much better.

     “Inquisitor?” Varric asked, startled.

     “We need to talk Varric.” Lavellan said.

     She shut the door, and entered uninvited. She surveyed the room, and (after failing to find a second chair) awkwardly perched on the end of Varric’s bed. Varric considered pulling over his chair to join her, but he decided against it. She had, after all, barged in against his wishes. Today, of all days, Varric was permitted to be rude.

     Lavellan pushed on.

     “It’s important. And, as it stands, I’ve already been putting this off for too long.”

     Varric’s mind buzzed with possibilities. At the moment, he had a pretty good idea of what she was going to say. Hmm. Maybe he would have been better off with Hawke, after all. At least then, the two of them could have sat in silence.

     Oh, Lavellan had stopped speaking. Varric urged her on, pushing out two open palms.

     “I tried to respect your privacy and her safety for as long as I could, but it’s time. And, after Adamant—” She trailed off. “If there is any way to help her, I need to know. I want to better understand.”

     Now was not the time for guessing games. Besides, like Hawke, the Inquisitor liked to be direct. Varric could grant her that.

     “You want to know why.” Varric said. “Why Hawke was made Tranquil.”

     “I do.” The Inquisitor nodded. “That demon. The one we met in the fade. It knew her. At times—” Lavellan paused. “I don’t understand it, Varric. But, at times it spoke like it _was_ her.”

     “It wasn’t.” Varric said.

     “Are you certain?” Lavellan asked.

     “She wasn’t an abomination.” Varric said, and grit his teeth.

     The Inquisitor wouldn’t be the first one to suggest it. Hell, for a time, Varric wondered about it himself. And, likely, she wouldn’t be the last. The longer she stayed at Skyhold, the more people knew about Hawke. As Varric knew too well, rumors only grew. But, it wasn’t the time to worry about Hawke’s reputation. Junior was dead. Corypheus was on a rampage. And Hawke was—

     No. Best not think about it.

     “Would she have told you?” The Inquisitor asked. “If she was?”

     Would she have?

     “Don’t know.” Varric answered honestly. “It doesn’t matter. She wasn’t. If she was, Meredith would have killed her. It would have been justified, too. Hell, I’m still not sure why she didn’t.”

     Lavellan took a moment to process the information, but ultimately nodded.

     “Where did the demon come from?”

     Varric sighed. He didn’t want to get into it. Besides, he didn’t really know. He didn’t like to dwell on the Deep Roads Incident. In the grand scheme, that part wasn’t relevant. It didn’t really matter how. Hawke met a demon. End of story. Which (yeah) was a pretty shitty outlook for a storyteller. But, it was late. And Varric was already grieving one Hawke. And, in deep denial about the other.   

     “That’s a long story.” Varric said. “And not important.”

     “I disagree.” Lavellan said, and then paused to think. “But, we can come back to it. I do have other questions. Tell me Varric. If it was not inside her, if she was not an abomination, then what was she?”

     “I don’t know.” Varric responded. “Out of her depth?”

     The Inquisitor eyed Varric skeptically.

     “I am not joking.” Lavellan said.

     “Neither am I.” Varric muttered.

     “How long did you know?” Lavellan asked.

     That was the question, wasn’t it? When did Varric first know? It sounded simple. Looking back, it probably was. But, it wasn’t obvious at the time. Hawke was powerful. She had been since the day he had met her. He’d had inklings. Varric could not pretend that he hadn’t. He’d heard the whispers: the demon’s first contact. But, that was in The Deep Roads. He had been delirious, and on the verge of death. Besides, Hawke seemed to have it under control. Afterward, when Varric lost his nerve to confront her, Hawke had returned to normal. It was one (of many reasons) why he had dismissed the thought.

     After the expedition, her abilities only improved. With Merrill’s help, she became more familiar with blood magic. In the months following Leandra’s death, she went on a killing spree. Crime in Kirkwall was cut in half, and it was all because of Hawke. She was a powerhouse. It was why she was the Champion, and why Varric was the side-kick.  

     When did he know for sure? Without a doubt? That one wasn’t so hard. He’d found out when the others had.

     He was her best friend. Her comrade in arms. Her drinking buddy. Her bed-mate (in the most platonic sense). And, the man who loved her. But, he hadn’t been the first one to notice. He hadn’t even been the one to confront her. That had been Fenris.

     Maybe Varric had been too close. Maybe, he hadn’t noticed, because he hadn’t wanted to. Hero-worship was dangerous. And Varric hadn’t ever met a hero quite like Hawke. It was blinding. As, Varric supposed, was love.

     “A little bit before it was too late.” Varric said, after a long pause.  

     “Tell me.” Lavellan instructed.

     And so, Varric did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… who’s ready for a flashback? I know I am. I’ve been planning it forever. And, now, I’m so excited to share it with all of you!


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